The Decoding
by Aduro
Summary: Third in The Code trilogy. Draco's a genius who denounced Voldemort and was disowned. Now he's staying at the Order, helping find the rest of the Horcruxes while trying to keep his sanity. He might learn a lot there...if he lets himself. Will be DG.
1. The Withdrawal

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. However, in nine hours I'm seeing the new HP movie (yay!).

Author's Note: Just a quick thank you to all of my amazing reviewers, and here is the third part of my Code Trilogy (applaud now). Remember, I couldn't do it without you all, so thanks again!

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Draco stumbled when he and Bill stepped out of the Floo, something he hadn't done in ten years, but Bill was steadying him then and Draco was looking up at the startled faces of a few members of the Order sitting around a large table, obviously eating breakfast.

He couldn't quite make out their faces because he was being treated to the algorithmic equations of a death spiral right then and he found the hallucination rather fitting. Of course, seeing the spiral only threw him more off balance and Bill grabbed him quickly to keep him from face-planting into the wood floor, but in doing so, forgot about the burn on his back.

Draco tried to bite back the cry that left his lips when Bill grabbed him around the shoulders, but half of it escaped and then his vision was tunneling and black spots arose. He was aware of voices around him, but there were too many of them.

"Where's a spare room?"

"What happened?"

"He's the son of a Death Eater!"

"Shut it, Alastor."

"What's the ferret doing here?"

"Is he going to be hanging out with us weasels?"

"Forge, not right now."

"Third floor, I think."

"There's one on second, next to mine."

"What happened to him?"

"Thanks."

Draco felt himself being moved then, but he couldn't be sure if he was moving on his own accord and being guided, or simply carried. Right then, he couldn't care less.

Stairs were ascended, a hall traversed, and then a door creaking open. It was dark, blessedly dark and cool in here, and there was something soft underneath him. A bed. He was set facedown, which he was thankful for, and his arm closed around a pillow. He grabbed it for support as he seemed to follow the death spiral down.

"Draco?"

The voice was familiar, calming. He pushed away the spiral and the equations, turning his head and managing to open his eyes. Bill was beside him, looking worried. Draco was glad he no longer seemed upset; he wasn't familiar with the feeling of guilt and he didn't like it.

"Are you going to be okay?"

Draco managed a short nod.

"Do you need anything?"

"A vanishing bucket."

"I can get you that."

"And lock the door."

"From what side?"

"The side where I can't get out if I want to," said Draco.

Bill nodded and left the room and Draco buried his head in the pillow, trying to block out the migraine that felt as if his skull was shrinking and squeezing his brain.

He mentally swore at himself for slipping up like that. He hadn't just gotten high; he had made the drug. He had thought that being a genius meant that he was smart enough not to do something like that, that he was strong enough to resist it. He had screwed up; he _was_ screwed up.

He clenched his jaw and tried to smother his thoughts in the pillow and then the door opened again.

"Do you need anything else?" asked Bill.

"No," said Draco.

There was the sound of something being placed beside the bed and then the footsteps walked back to the door and it swung shut. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight past the self-loathing that seemed to rise up from the pit of his stomach.

He suddenly realized that Bill hadn't locked the door and so he opened his eyes, turning to the entryway. Bill was leaning against the wall, eyes on him, worried. His expression made Draco feel worse and he groaned, turning back to the pillow.

"Don't forget to lock the door," he said.

"I won't need to. I'm staying with you."

Draco turned back again as Bill pulled over the armchair by the wall to Draco's bed. He sat and gave Draco a small smile.

Draco felt inexplicably tired. "Bill," he started, but Bill didn't let him finish.

"Draco, why wouldn't I be here? I've told you, you're like a brother to me, and I'm going to be right here until you're over this."

"What are you going to tell your parents?" Draco asked, trying to find a reason to make Bill leave. It wasn't that he didn't want the help, or that he didn't need it, it was just…he wasn't exactly proud of himself right then, and he didn't want Bill to witness just how badly he had messed up.

"Nothing," said Bill. "They already know quite a bit, and after all, you did just save Ron's life. Speaking of which, why didn't you tell me?"

Draco shrugged. What was he supposed to have said? 'Oh, hey Bill. I just saved your brother's life.'

There was a sudden spike of fire in his head and he flinched, grabbing the pillow with all of his might as he waited for the pain to diminish.

"You okay, Draco?"

"Fine," he managed, once the headache was at a manageable level. "Look, Bill-,"

"Draco," Bill interrupted again, "I get that right now you might not want me to sit with you, but I'm not going to have you face this down alone."

"It's not…," Draco trailed off, not being able to say the words.

Merlin, he was an idiot. What was wrong with him?

The back of his throat was tightening and his eyes stung, but no tears came to the surface. He wondered what it would be like for the sting to actually be soothed away by tears, but he would never know. He buried his face again, trying to keep his breath from hitching, but Bill must have heard it anyway.

"Draco," he asked, voice thick with concern. "Draco, are you going to be okay?"

"I'm fine," Draco ground out.

"You say that too much."

Draco choked on a burst of laughter, raising his hand to his head and letting his fingers entwine in his hair, tugging at the strands.

"Merlin, I screwed up," he muttered as he fought back a bout of dizziness.

There was a small silence and then Bill spoke, his voice concerned.

"You don't think this is your fault, do you?"

Draco didn't answer.

"Draco, this is in no way your fault," said Bill, his tone urgent and convincing.

"Because actually taking the time to make the sodding potion counts as not my bloody fault."

"You wouldn't have even thought to make the potion if your mother hadn't poisoned you when you were kid," said Bill, sounding outraged that he would even think that taking the drugs was his mistake.

"I _knew_ it was a bad idea," said Draco. "I was telling myself not to make it, and not to take it, but I did. How is that not my fault?"

"You have just been rescued from Voldemort where you had a knife shoved through your arm, you decided to join the Order, Sam and Laney left to the States and on top of it all you got disowned and the entire top of your back is burned. Anyone might be driven to things they wouldn't usually do."

"But I'm not 'anyone'," Draco spat. "I'm a bloody genius. I should know better."

He felt the bed dip slightly as Bill sat on the edge of it and then Bill's hand was on his arm.

"Draco, listen to me. Just because you are a genius does not mean that you are invulnerable or that you are unsusceptible to emotion or suffering. You are still a teenager above all and thinking that you should be able to pass through trials untouched is just going to get you burnt. You made a mistake; it's alright. Everyone slips up every now and then. You can't expect perfectionism."

"I just-," Draco cut off because his throat was closing again, but he forced the feeling back. "I don't like…," but he stopped again because he couldn't quite phrase what he wanted to say.

"You don't like having to rely on other people when you do make that mistake," said Bill. "Draco, remember what I was saying about how we need other people? This is precisely for that reason. You got that?"

Draco nodded but then sat up. "I'm going to be sick."

He slid off the bed, knelt over the bucket, and threw up. It couldn't really be called throwing up though because he hadn't had anything to eat in almost an entire day and so all that came up was stomach acid and bile.

His body refused to stop retching until it was certain that everything in his stomach had been expelled and then he leaned his shoulder against the bed, keeping his back from coming into contact with anything harder than his shirt.

"Do you need anything?" asked Bill.

Draco shook his head, feeling the throbbing he remembered so clearly from when he was thirteen settle into his temples.

"Help me back up," he said, holding up a hand. Bill grasped it and helped him back on the bed where Draco collapsed face first. His legs began to ache first, and then it spread up over the rest of his body from there.

He grit his teeth as the ache sank into his bones and every light touch became painful, even lying on the bed made him think that he was going to have bruises from the contact. He closed his eyes, trying to force himself into sleep, but it wouldn't come. Time passed too slowly. Bill tried to start up a conversation a few times, but he stopped when he realized Draco wasn't exactly up to answering him.

He left for a few minutes, and when he came back he had a book which he read out loud. It was just _Hogwarts: A History_, but his voice was soothing, and Draco finally felt himself drift off. The shivers took hold sometime in the evening.

It started with just a trembling in his hands, but then spread. His head throbbed and it hurt to breathe. His skin broke out in cold sweat as his body trembled.

"Draco."

That was Bill, sounding concerned, almost frightened.

"It's fine," Draco managed.

"Can I get you anything?" asked Bill.

Draco shook his head and turned on his side, trying to fight back the urge to cry. He couldn't cry, so what was the point? He grabbed onto one of the pillows, squeezing it tight as he pushed back the desire to groan or scream or _something_.

Bill reached out and grabbed his hand, holding it reassuringly, and he didn't let go all night, not even when the shivers increased and he was sure he was clinging to Bill's hand so tightly he must be cutting of the circulation, maybe even bursting a few blood vessels. He would have to check Bill's hand for bruises when he was better.

In the early hours of morning the nausea and stomach cramps started. There was nothing to throw up this time, not even stomach acid, but that didn't stop Draco's body from trying and he spent nearly an hour dry heaving and retching, finally curling up on his side as his stomach burned. This time the trembling was because he felt cold, but he had also broken out into a sweat. His mind was consumed by one thought: he needed more.

He didn't know how much time had passed before he stirred, the craving growing too strong. He pushed himself up, looking over and seeing Bill watching him. That alone was enough to make him clench his jaw and lie back down, shame flushing his cheeks and forcing back the gnawing at the back of his mind. Twenty minutes later and he shifted again, the need outweighing embarrassment. He pushed himself up.

"Draco."

That was Bill.

Draco halted his movements. He really didn't want this; he didn't. He swung his legs over the bed.

"Draco, what are you doing?"

Draco clenched his teeth, pulling in harsh, hissing breaths. He ran an aggravated hand through his hair. He didn't want this, but at the same time, he needed it.

"Bill." He turned to the older man. "I…I really don't want more."

Bill's gaze was even, reassuring. "I know."

"Then why do I want it?"

"It's just the addiction talking."

"I know, I just-," he cut off, grabbing at his hair and tugging, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his head. This wasn't working. He couldn't breathe; he couldn't think. He just needed some, a little bit, just to take the edge off. Somewhere his brain was telling him that a little bit wouldn't help at all; it would just hook him further. He had only taken one dose and if he just rode this out he would be fine.

It wasn't fair. He hadn't been able to savor that last bit properly. If he took another dose, knowing that it was the last one, it would be easier, wouldn't it?

It wasn't until Bill's hands rested on his shoulders that he realized he had gotten off the bed and was taking a step towards the door.

"Where are you going?" asked Bill, but he must already know the answer because his expression was sympathetic, pained.

"I just, just a little bit, Bill. I swear, just a little. I can't think, all the thoughts are muddled in my head, and they can't get out. A tiny bit, that's it, I swear."

"Draco, you know that's not a good idea."

"I know, I know, but Bill, I need it."

"You don't need it."

"Yes, yes, I do. It hurts; my head is killing me, just a little."

"Draco, no."

He groaned in frustration. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm not; it's the drug."

"And that's why I…oh Merlin, I'm begging now, aren't I?" The moment of clarity hurt. He blindly reached out, grabbing onto Bill's shoulder with his right hand. His left was sore. "Bill, merde, I-I really don't want it."

"I know."

"Shit." The craving returned with a vengeance, causing his vision to swim. Bill held onto him as he swayed.

"You okay, Draco?"

"I would be, if I just had a little more," said Draco, pushing away from Bill. "I need it."

"No you don't. You just said you didn't."

"You don't understand."

"Explain it then."

"How am I supposed to do that? I bet you never had an addiction, or never even tried smoking. I bet you don't even Apparate until an hour after you drink. I need some."

And he took a step forward, only to be blocked by Bill again. He tried brushing past him, but Bill was quicker than he was in his state.

"Damn it, Bill!" And then Draco was sending a fist towards Bill's face. Bill easily caught his wrist, and then grabbed onto his other hand as well, holding firmly, tightly, forcing him backwards. Draco tried twisting away, anger coloring his vision and he was full out struggling. He knew, if he had his wand, he would have been spitting out dark spells, not caring that he was fighting his first true friend. He just needed his drugs. At this moment, it didn't matter who he had to fight through to get to them, as long as he could have just one hit more, just one.

He vaguely heard that Bill was apologizing, but he couldn't think why. He knew in the next moment when he was kicked off his feet and he fell heavily onto the bed. On his back.

His vision exploded with bursts of pain and the breath left his lungs in a pained cry. He tried to arch away from the source of pain, but he was being held down, his back being pressed into the covers. The pain pushed away the voice of the drug and he found himself staring up at Bill who was looking just as pained as he was.

Draco choked back another cry, clenching his eyes shut, trying to focus on the fire burning up his back and not the one that screamed for the illegal potion. He sucked in a breath and slowly let it out, opening his eyes when he was calm again.

"I'm so sorry," said Bill.

"Not your fault," Draco managed.

"If I let you up are you going to try to take a swing at me again?"

Draco shook his head, and then Bill helped him turn onto his side very slowly. Draco lay there for a few moments while the fire died away, and then the cravings passed into stomach cramps. He curled up on his side. Bill pulled the covers down and gently draped them over him, careful not to let them fall over his back. Draco felt his eyes slowly slipping shut and he finally fell asleep.

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Bill made sure that Draco was fully asleep before slipping out of the room to find something to eat. It was early morning, but there were a few people up, mainly his mother and father, Sirius, and Kingsley who liked to stop over for a pot of coffee and a chat before heading off to the Ministry. Dumbledore was there as well.

"How is he?" asked Dumbledore. He hadn't been at the Order for their arrival, but he must have heard the story.

"Sleeping," said Bill, sitting heavily in a chair and accepting the cup of coffee his mother poured for him.

"And he's –?"

Bill knew, from their looks, that they had probably already guessed. "Going through withdrawal," he said, before taking a sip of coffee.

"Don't blame him," muttered Sirius.

"He isn't buying from anyone I should know about, is he?" asked Kingsley.

Bill shook his head. "He made it."

The adults exchanged concerned looks.

"He's not…a regular user, is he?" asked Arthur.

"No," said Bill. "He's not."

"But he took illegal drugs."

"He's not an addict."

"But if he's making it himself…," said Molly, obviously wary of having a druggie in the house.

"It's the first time he's taken any deliberately," said Bill, and then realized what he had just let slip. He must be really tired.

"Deliberately?" asked Dumbledore, frowning in concern.

Bill sighed, knowing that it would be best to just tell them to dispel any thoughts they had, even though he doubted Draco would like that. Well, Draco didn't always know what was best for himself. If he ever wanted to live in this house peaceably, some things would have to be explained. He looked up at the Order.

"His mother wanted him out of the way because she was having a party one summer," said Bill. "She's a regular user, and so she slipped him some of her drugs and kept him sedated for over a week." He took another sip of his coffee. "Draco just got disowned and had his signum marked through and he didn't know how to deal."

"His mother drugged him?" asked Molly, looking horrified at that thought.

Bill nodded.

"With what?" asked Kingsley.

"Angel Flight," said Bill.

"And that's what he…?"

"Yeah."

"There was no report of the incident."

"There wouldn't be," said Dumbledore. "Not with such a powerful family. Healers can be found who will keep their mouth shut for cases of abuse with the right amount of money."

"There wasn't a Healer. Lucius brought Draco through withdrawal on his own."

The adults all looked surprised at that. Bill wondered if he had looked the same when Draco had revealed that about his father.

"Just out of curiosity, William," said Dumbledore, "would this be the summer before Draco's third year?"

Bill nodded.

"That does explain a lot about his behavior then," said Dumbledore, no doubt putting two and two together, that Draco's outbursts had begun as drug cravings.

"Yeah," Bill agreed.

"How much longer is he going to be…indisposed?" asked Molly.

"I think he's through the worst of it," said Bill. "I'm going to Floo home and say hello to Fleur, let her know where I am."

He drank the rest of his coffee and then stood. "I'll be back in a few."

Fleur was up when Bill arrived and she was just starting a quick breakfast. Bill wanted to take over for her, but she took one look at his haggard appearance and sat him at the table, refusing to let him do so much as set the table.

"I'm not the one that's having a baby," he tried to protest, but she shushed him with a kiss.

"Not for another three weeks," she said.

"Shouldn't you be on bed rest or something?"

She sniffed. "I am part Veela," she said, somewhat haughtily. "We don't do bed rest. Now, tell me exactly what is going on with Draco."

And so Bill related the story while he ate breakfast and Fleur refused to let him back in the house until Draco was fully recovered, effectively exiling him to the Headquarters. Sometimes Bill wondered how he deserved her.

He went straight back to Draco after that, relieved to see that the boy still hadn't woken up. He was lying on his stomach, pillows pushed up above his head, his face turned towards the door. Even when sleeping he looked pained and Bill silently cursed Narcissa in his head.

Draco started stirring around noon, waking Bill up, who had drifted off to sleep a bit himself.

"Hey," said Bill. "How you feeling?"

Draco groaned, hand reaching up to rub at his eyes as he blinked about the room. He tried pushing himself up, but a grimace crossed his face and he let his arms drop.

"Shit," he said.

"Hey, Draco, you alright?"

The grey eyes slid over to him and then cleared a little. "Bill."

"Surprised?" asked Bill, smiling lightly at the obvious statement.

"Dunno," said Draco, his words slurring which made Bill frown in concern. "Didn't think you'd still be here."

He shifted a bit, pulling down a pillow to rest his head on, but even that movement caused him to wince.

"What hurts?" asked Bill.

"I'm fine."

"Don't you dare start that again, or I swear I'll borrow a bit of Veritaserum from Snape."

Draco smirked, or rather attempted to, but his lips barely twitched. In fact, he looked exhausted. There were deep circles under his eyes, his face was incredibly pale, and his hair was hopelessly tussled.

"What hurts?" asked Bill.

"My head," said Draco. "And my back."

"Can I get you any pain reliever?"

"Not for another twelve hours," said Draco.

"What about some salve for your back?"

"That would work."

Bill nodded. "I'll be right back."

The first aid kit was in the bathroom, and Bill returned in just a few seconds. The only light in the room was from the small lamp on the dresser and so Bill flipped on the bedside lamp as well to have better light to see by. He didn't realize just how bad Draco's head hurt.

Draco swore at the light, lapsing back to French, and squeezing his eyes shut, but it was already too late. He leaned over the side of the bed, retching again even as Bill realized the problem and switched off the light. He helped Draco lie back down once the dry heaving had stopped.

"Sorry about that," he said, feeling rather guilty at his blunder.

"It's fine," said Draco, his voice somewhat raw.

"So, I'm thinking your head is a little more than hurting right now?" he asked.

"Yeah," Draco admitted.

"And your back is a little more than sore."

Draco gave a small nod. Bill decided the lecture could wait for another time.

"Let's get your shirt off, yeah?"

He helped Draco sit up so he could ease the shirt off the boy, wincing when he could see Draco clenching his jaw as the motion jarred both his head and back. By the time he was lying down again, he had broken out into a sweat.

Bill gently pulled off the gauze he had put on the other day, wincing when he saw the burns. While the salve had helped, the wounds were sill unpleasant to look at, harsh against the pale skin.

He opened the first aid kit and found the vial of burn salve he needed. He poured some onto a gauze pad and then gently dabbed at the burns. Draco flinched.

"Sorry," said Bill, already apply the salve as softly as he could.

"It's fine," said Draco.

Bill snorted and flicked the kid, very lightly, on the arm. He could see Draco's lips twitch ever-so-slightly upwards. He returned to spreading the ointment, only stopping when he was sure that every inch of burn was covered.

"Is this even ethical?" he asked, taping gauze strips over the marks again.

"It's one of the older traditions in wizarding law," said Draco.

"So because you get disowned some guy gets to take a hot poker to your back?"

Draco flinched again. "It wasn't some guy."

"What do you mean?"

Draco looked as if he was trying to push some unpleasant memory away from him. "It was Lucius," he finally said, voice no more than a whisper.

Bill stared at him and then swore, loudly. He was about to say something, but then Draco cut him off.

"Bill. I have a headache."

Bill stopped himself, knowing that Draco was only admitting to pain so that Bill wouldn't be able to say anything, because that would just make the situation that much more real. Bill remembered what Draco had said about not wanting to tell him because then he would have to feel something, and he just wanted to forget it.

"We're going to talk about this, later," he told Draco.

Draco didn't answer. Bill checked Draco's bandages once more before seeing something that made him pause. Draco's skin was pale and completely smooth without a blemish on it, if the signum and burns on his shoulders were overlooked, but there was another mark. This one was further down his back, and was nothing more than a fine, horizontal line of silvery scar tissue.

"What's this?" asked Bill, brushing the line with his finger. It was just barely raised from the rest of his skin.

He suddenly had a flash back of running from the Death Eaters, Draco fighting a man with a knife. He remembered sitting in the abandoned house with the wards pulled up and seeing blood on Draco's shirt.

"This is when you rescued me," he said.

"Yeah," said Draco.

"I didn't know it was that bad," said Bill.

"It wasn't," said Draco.

"You have a scar."

"I scar pretty easily."

"You should have gotten this looked at."

"Because that wouldn't have been suspicious."

He had a point. Bill packed the first aid kit back up and set it by the bed.

"Thank you," he said.

"You already said that."

"I'm saying it again."

Draco was silent for a moment, before meeting his eyes. "Thank you, for staying."

"Not a problem. Do you think you can sleep anymore?"

"Probably not," said Draco.

"When will you be better?"

"Tomorrow, maybe. Just the headache now."

Bill nodded. "The headache that you can't take any potion for but makes you throw up at any increase in light."

"Yeah."

"You should probably try to sleep."

"Yeah," said Draco again. Already his eyes were closing, and it was apparent he was exhausted, but he didn't seem to be sleeping because every so often he would open his eyes and shift positions, trying to find one comfortable enough. Bill doubted that with both the burns on his back and going through withdrawal, he would ever find a position where he wasn't uncomfortable.

After watching him for a few hours, he wondered if Draco just needed a distraction so he pulled out the book and started reading out loud. It appeared to help because although Draco didn't sleep, he was able to lie quietly.

There was a soft knock on the door some time after dinner and Bill opened it up to see Ginny at the door with a tray of food.

"Hi," she said quietly. "Mum wanted to know if you wanted something to eat."

Bill glanced back at Draco. "I don't know," he said.

"Sirius said something about smells making people going through withdrawal nauseas, so the food is charmed to be odorless. There's some soup too, if Draco feels like eating."

"Alright," said Bill. He was hungry. He took the tray but Ginny didn't move from the doorway.

"Can I see him?" she asked.

Bill looked back to see Draco laying on his stomach, but his face was turned towards Bill and his eyes were open, regarding him curiously.

"Alright," he said, "just for a little bit."

He let Ginny in and then shut the door, watching as Ginny knelt by the bed.

"Hey," she said softly.

Draco's brows furrowed. "What are you doing?"

"Visiting you," Ginny shrugged. "How are you feeling?"

"I thought you said that asking such questions got old."

"That was when the indisposed person was in the infirmary; you've just been holed up in here for a day and a half. But you do look like shit again."

"You should never become a Healer. Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired."

"It's a good thing I'm not going into Healing then; I'm going into-,"

"Law, I know."

"I never told you that."

"You visited Granger an awful lot."

"And you eavesdropped?"

"I was right there. It was rather hard not to hear, with how you were moaning on about how people still thought you liked Potter."

"I was not moaning."

"You were."

Ginny stuck out her tongue at him. Draco raised an eyebrow, but his lips twitched as well.

"So," said Ginny, "how are you feeling?"

"Asking now isn't going to make me recant. You would still make a terrible Healer."

"And you're misdirecting my question."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm fine."

"Funny, you don't look it."

"We've been over this and you've already given your opinion."

"Maybe I just want the truth."

"So saying 'I feel like crap' is going to make you stop asking questions?"

"If it's the truth."

"And if the truth really is 'I'm fine'?"

"It isn't. No one who actually feels alright looks like you do right now."

"Fine. I have a headache."

"A partial truth," said Ginny.

"But truth none-the-less."

Ginny looked unconvinced "Did you want some soup? I brought some up for you. It's chicken noodle with carrots and peas and-,"

She cut off because Draco paled and then leaned over the side of the bed, over the bucket, but this time he managed to suppress the heaving.

"So," said Ginny, "a headache and nausea."

Draco lay back on the bed, still a bit pale. He glared at Ginny who merely shrugged.

"Well, on that note, feel better soon Draco." She patted his hand and then got up. "Bye, Bill."

Bill waved and then she was out the door, closing it softly behind her. Bill turned to Draco with raised eyebrows.

"You two seem to get along," he said, wondering if the boy problem Ginny had was in anyway connected to Draco, but as soon as the thought came into his head he dismissed it. Ginny hadn't exactly been flirting, she had just nearly made him throw up, and while Draco had seemed to be less abrasive around her, that could just be because she was a girl and because Bill had been in the room.

Draco gave him a look, one that clearly said 'I thought I was the one high here. What have you been smoking?'

Draco then caught sight of the plate Bill was holding and he groaned, turning his face away and pulling a pillow over his head. Bill laughed, quietly though.

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So, I'm sticking with Tuesday updates most likely. See you next week, and please leave a review on your way out.


	2. Settling in and Secret Revealed

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own 'em.

Author's Note: I have been informed that fanfic doesn't like author's responding to anonymous reviews in their chapters, so I will no long replying here. However, I do appreciate all reviews, and I reply to all signed ones, so if you don't have an account you can get one, and I can thank you personally. But for now, thank you all. There was an overwhelming number of you reviewing my first chapter, and I thank you so much for your support.

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Draco fell asleep late that night, but when he did it was deep and dreamless. That evening he had felt the craving slowly fade to a mere whisper in the back of his mind and the burn on his back had morphed into an itch. Draco found the itch was much easier to deal with.

He woke up around seven-thirty. Bill's chair was empty; he was no doubt getting some more coffee and Draco felt guilty having forced Bill to sit with him. He lay still for a few moments, collecting his thoughts, but the silence in the back of his mind seemed to taunt him now that the drug was fading. He needed to distract himself.

Draco pushed himself up, feeling a slight tug on his back where the scabs on his shoulders pulled at the more flexible flesh and there was pain, but nothing too bad. He sat all the way up and swung his legs over the bed, running a hand through his hair. He hadn't showered in days and it was noticeable.

He saw his wand lying on the nightstand and performed a few quick but thorough cleaning spells, and then freshened his clothes as well. He pulled on his shirt and buttoned it, feeling the brush of fabric sting against his back, but it was no longer excruciating. A quick glance in the mirror showed that while he looked acceptable, his complexion was pale and he had circles under his eyes. His hair was tussled and he tried to run his fingers through it, but it didn't help.

He couldn't find his shoes, and on second thought, he might have taken them off back in his flat. He glanced at the door, knowing that he would have to leave sometime and out there was distraction, something to take his mind off of the disconnect, but he wondered if it was too much. Leaving meant facing the Order, facing people that had been his enemy for so long, people who didn't know about him. He was annoyed at how daunting it seemed and he crossed to the door and pulled it open without allowing a second thought. He could hear voices echo up from the hall and he walked downstairs and into the dining room.

The dining room was large, holding a long oak table. On the far end several members of the Weasley family and Order were gathered having breakfast. They all stopped talking when he came into the room and several stared. Bill didn't.

"Draco, what are you doing up?" he asked, setting down his coffee mug and starting to stand.

Draco shrugged. "I feel better," he said. "I was going to head back over to my flat."

"Nonsense."

That was Dumbledore, coming into the room from what must be the kitchen with a teacup and saucer in his hands. He took a sip of the tea, smiled, and then twinkled at Draco.

"Why don't you sit down and have some breakfast? You must be hungry."

"I-," Draco started, but Dumbledore cut him off.

"Excellent. I have a few things I wish to discuss with you as well. There's a seat next to Bill that you can have."

Draco hesitated, but Bill was gesturing to the chair and everyone was still watching him so he made his way over to the empty chair and sat. He could still feel the gaze of the entire table on him and he steadfastly ignored them all until Dumbledore gave them a pointed look and they started their conversations again. Bill gave a smile of sympathy and then pushed the carafe his way.

"Coffee?" he asked.

"Thanks," said Draco, pouring himself a mug. Dumbledore took a seat across from him and then helped himself to the bowl of eggs that Charlie passed him.

"Eggs, Draco?"

"No, thank you."

"You should eat something," said Bill.

"Some toast might be easier to stomach, perhaps?" asked Dumbledore, passing the serving plate with the bread on it. "You've been through a lot these past few days."

Draco mentally braced himself for a lecture, but Dumbledore only gave him a small smile.

"I had hoped you would remember us," he said quietly.

Draco found he didn't know what to say, and Dumbledore's gaze was a little too kindly, so he looked down into his coffee. Mrs. Weasley came in just then carrying a platter of sweet rolls and she did a slight double take when she saw him.

"Oh, you're up," she said. "How are you feeling?"

Draco stared for a second. "Better," he said, and then remembering etiquette, "thank you."

"Good." Mrs. Weasley smiled. She sounded as if she was actually pleased to hear that he was feeling well, and then she set the platter down. "Fred, George, don't you dare take seconds until everyone has had one. Charlie, the kettle's on in the kitchen for tea. We've Earl Grey, lemon, and black. Ron, chew with your mouth shut please. How are you doing Harry? Have enough to eat?"

She said that all while working her way down the table to have a seat herself as the Weasley children and Sirius grabbed at the platter of sweet rolls and Charlie pushed his way through the mess to get to the kitchen.

"Get me a cup too, would you Charlie?" asked Bill. He took a sweet roll and then passed the plate to Draco, who passed it back down without taking one. People actually ate that for breakfast? He was used to sweet things such as pastries for breakfast, but not something so smothered in syrupy icing. Narcissa was obsessed with eating healthy, and would never allow for such a thing at the table.

"Same here," called out Sirius to Charlie.

"Earl Grey?" asked Charlie.

"Yeah," said Bill.

"That's perfect," said Sirius.

And that was when the controlled chaos broke out. Kingsley Shacklebolt arrived by the Floo and he was met without a loud hail from the table. Apparently, by the greetings, he was running quite late and everyone broke into separate conversations. Kingsley managed to steal a sweet roll from the plate as it was being passed down and then sat next to Mrs. Weasley, who started yet another conversation with him.

Charlie returned with the teas, but then Mr. Weasley arrived at the table, sitting next to his wife on the other side and Charlie left to grab another cup and coffee for Kingsley. Fred and George tried to get their father's attention, but he was too busy speaking with Harry and Hermione, and then Kingsley asked him a question as well. Fred and George decided it was better to be heard than it was to be understood so they merely yelled out their question, something about taking Ron somewhere. Mrs. Weasley answered a 'no' for her husband, but they continued asking anyway.

Draco noted that a few people were involved in simultaneous discussions, but it did not appear to be an efficient way of conversing because they were never paying attention to the right person to answer the questions asked them. At that moment he counted five different conversations occurring, well, five and a half because Charlie came in and, after delivering the beverages, was caught up in a conversation while it was occurring. They were mundane subjects, the plans for the day, the weather and when it might clear, and what everyone was going to do now that school was out, but for someone used to growing up at a table where not three words were spoken together, it was overpowering.

Draco was sure he was staring, and Bill caught the expression on his face and just laughed, and then told his mother he was going over to see Fleur, and was immediately engaged in a conversation about baby names. Draco had a fleeting thought that he wanted to go home, but that word 'home' conjured up a picture of the Malfoy mansion, but it wasn't home anymore; he had been disowned.

That knowledge shouldn't have hit him so hard, but the wound was still fresh and it was as if the scab had been torn off and he was bleeding afresh. He needed to get out. Now. And go anywhere silent and calm.

He was just about to get up when Ginny walked into the room. She didn't exactly walk though, but she wasn't quite skipping. There was just such an energy to her step it was like she bounded into the room, smiling as if the sun had told her directly it would be shining all day.

And everyone paused their conversations, turning to say hello. It was easy to see that she was the baby of the family and that the position had rubbed off on the rest of those present. Even Kingsley and Dumbledore smiled and returned her greeting, and she managed to steal the sweet roll right from Fred's plate, but it was his second, so he didn't complain too hard.

"Hey," she said to Draco, and she plunked right down on the chair next to him, taking a bite of the sticky bun.

"Hey," said Draco back, not exactly knowing why she was sitting next to him.

"Did you try a sweet roll?" she asked.

"No," said Draco.

"Want a bite?" she asked, holding out the bun.

"No," said Draco. Was it even normal to share food at the breakfast table?

Apparently it was because Fred was stealing half of George's second sweet roll, because Ginny had taken his, and Hermione was sipping Harry's coffee while Ron snagged the last bit of toast from her plate.

Ginny shrugged and took another bite. Draco was a little relieved to see that the initial chaos of the table had seemed to die down a bit and that people were talking normally amongst themselves without shouting over every other conversation. He even managed to eat a piece of toast in the relative quiet, although 'relative' was the operative word.

Ginny finished her breakfast, licked a bit of syrup off her finger, and then picked up his coffee mug and took a sip. Draco stared at her as she made a face, and then reached over for the coffee tray. She poured a good amount of cream into the cup and then stirred in a tiny bit of sugar. She took another sip and smiled.

"That's how you're supposed to drink it," she said.

"That was my coffee," said Draco.

"I know."

"You ruined it."

She handed him back the cup. "I made it better."

He looked down at the liquid that was now the shade of toffee. "You made a latte."

"I made it so you can drink it without corroding your stomach."

"The human stomach has an acidity of two to three on the ph scale. I doubt plain coffee is in anyway detrimental."

She wrinkled her nose. "I don't want to know about stomach acid. I just ate."

"You brought the conversation up," Draco objected.

"I brought up the stomach; you took it to a whole new level. How do you even know that stuff anyway?"

Draco frowned at the girl. Would he never understand women, or was it just her? He didn't remember Pansy being completely baffling, but then again Pansy was a Slytherin. Sometimes the most devious of people were the easiest to understand.

"That's a far too serious look to have in the morning," said Ginny.

"I blame you," said Draco.

"What did I do?"

"Ruined my coffee," said Draco, and to that she didn't have a response. He smirked.

Breakfast ended when Kingsley and Arthur checked the time and then left for work. The twins debated for a few moments about the pros and cons of going to their shop before deciding to leave as well.

"What about you, Charlie?" asked Sirius. "Off to those dragons of yours?"

"I'm off for the holiday," said Charlie.

"Good," said Mrs. Weasley. "You can help the rest with the dishes then."

Charlie rolled his eyes good naturedly but then started clearing the dishes. Dumbledore stood, motioning his head for Bill and Draco to follow him.

The Headmaster walked into the adjoining living room. It was a comfortable room, done in shades of beige and burgundy and Draco speculated it was a tribute to the large Gryffindor population in the Order. Bill took a seat on the couch and Draco sat in one of the armchairs wondering if Dumbledore was going to lecture him now or if he wished to discuss another matter.

The Headmaster closed the door and then sat in the armchair across from Draco.

"I am pleased to see that you are doing better," he said in opening.

"Thank you," said Draco, wishing he would just get on with it. Dumbledore seemed to notice because he gave a small smile and acquiesced.

"I want you to stay here until school starts again," he said.

Draco stared at him. "What?"

"I want you to stay here, with the Order," said Dumbledore.

"No. No way," said Draco, shaking his head.

"Why not?" That was from Bill and Draco turned to him.

"Why not?" he reiterated. "I'm joining, yes, not…not moving in."

"Why not?" asked Dumbledore.

"I have my own place. A nice place," said Draco.

"I think it might be best if you stayed here," said the Headmaster. "For your own safety."

"My safety?"

"You've given Voldemort a reason to come after you specifically, and I fear that he will do so, just as he did with Laney."

"I can protect myself, quite well in fact."

"I understand, but your flat is in Muggle London, and while that means it will not be easily found, you have less magical support."

"I don't need support. Besides, my flat is warded."

"Hogwarts was warded," said Dumbledore.

Draco couldn't argue with that, but that didn't mean he was staying.

"I can still look after myself," he said. "I've escaped the Dark Lord twice now."

"But not yourself," said Dumbledore.

Draco turned to him. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, already knowing what Dumbledore was trying to say but not giving him an inch.

"Only that, in keeping recent events to yourself and not coming to us when you could have, you harmed yourself and quite seriously."

Draco bristled. "So you don't trust me now, is that it? You're afraid that I'm going to get more drugs? Or perhaps even overdose?"

"It is a concern," said Dumbledore, "yes."

"I can assure you, I'm not," said Draco.

"I do not wish for you to take that chance."

"Worried that I might damage this brain of mine?" asked Draco. "That would be terrible, wouldn't it? Losing such an advantage over the Dark Lord."

Perhaps it was unfair of him to jump to such a conclusion, but he had just gotten up that morning, and he was still recovering. He had just attended a chaotic breakfast, one in which he had felt like a complete outsider and now they wanted him to stay? Draco couldn't do that; he needed to have his quiet, to have his places to think. He was overwhelmed.

"Draco, we don't mean it like that," Bill interrupted, sounding hurt at the accusation and Draco felt guilty yet again. Bill had just sat with him for two days, and he looked absolutely exhausted. Draco knew that Bill would never use him like that.

"I do," said Dumbledore, startling both of them. The Headmaster smiled. "But only partly. Mostly, Draco, we are worried for you. It isn't good to be so alone, especially when the holidays are coming up. It would only be a month, perhaps a little longer until the school is properly repaired. You would, by no means, be confined to the house, but this is the Order's Headquarters, and most of us plan to spend a large amount of time here. I think it would be beneficial to us all if you were here to give your input."

"You have meetings I can come to," Draco objected.

"Yes, but we also have long periods of planning and revising. We hope to send out more spies as well, and this will be our base. Information will be coming in at any moment of the day. We could use your help, and it would be more efficient to have you here."

Draco still hesitated. Being at the Order base was where he could do the most, and the prospect wasn't distasteful, but he just didn't deal with people well. He needed his alone time and space to think and work on other projects.

"There is a room," said Dumbledore, proving that he must have some Seer blood in him, "just down the hall from here. It's not large, just the size of a bedroom, but it's been cleared out and we have no use for it. I know that, for one who has grown up in a quiet atmosphere, this house can be overwhelming, and I've already put in a few muffling wards around the room as well as some chalkboards and a table. There's a bookshelf too. If you were interested in staying, you could have that room for your projects."

"I don't know," said Draco.

"Severus is setting up a potions lab in the basement to get started on stockpiling potions, and perhaps even experimenting on a few. I understand the two of you were working on a counter to Veritaserum."

Dumbledore had thought of every reason he should stay, but Draco found the idea of staying in the house stifling, confining, and yet at the same time, the nightmare of the Veil was pulled to mind.

He frowned, his fingers tapping quickly through their pattern. His own flat sounded peaceful, but also a little daunting. He wondered if he still had his potion vials and alcohol on the table. Right now he was still feeling a little disoriented from his disinheritment, and the idea of perfect silence was intimidating, but yet the idea of constant noise and constant company was almost frightening.

"Give it some time," said Bill from the couch. "You don't have to decide now, but you are going to be staying here for today at least. I'm going home to catch some sleep and I want to know that you're not alone. If it gets too much, you can spend a night or two at your place. If you really hate it here, you can just come over for the meetings. But for now, why don't you give it a try?"

"That sounds reasonable," said Dumbledore. He turned to Draco, raising his eyebrows.

Draco sighed. "Alright," he said, not knowing if he was agreeing because he felt he owed Bill or if he genuinely thought the idea sounded plausible.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "I can send someone now for your things if you'll let down the wards on your flat and you can settle in. I'm sure the Weasley's will be delighted to have another permanent resident."

Shit. What the hell had he gotten himself into now?

"I can get my own things," said Draco quickly, seeing that Dumbledore was about to leave.

"Do you really think you should?" asked Bill. "You just got up."

"William is right," said Dumbledore. "It would be best to let someone do all the 'heavy lifting' for you."

"No," said Draco. "Absolutely not. I am not going to have a whole bunch of Gryffindors in my flat packing up my personal effects. It is not going to happen."

Bill nodded, but he didn't look too happy at the thought of Draco packing by himself. "If you need help, let us know."

Draco rolled his eyes. "There is something called a shrinking charm; perhaps you've heard of it."

Bill laughed. "Good to know you're feeling better."

Draco flooed back to his flat after Bill went home to sleep. Despite his assurance to Bill that he would be fine, standing in his living room stirred up another craving and he closed his eyes counting to ten in French, English, and Latin before opening them again. He fought the craving back and walked straight into his kitchen, relieved to find that Bill had completely drained and rinsed out every potion vial and bottle of alcohol in his cupboard. He put on a pot of coffee and then went straight into his bathroom to take a hot shower.

By the time he got out of the shower and dressed in fresh clothes the coffee was finished. Instead of packing, he sat down and read the newspapers that had been delivered in his absence, deliberately taking his mind off of his status as the newest member of the Order and resident of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. It was easier than he thought it would be.

Once finished he went back to his bedroom. Most of his clothing was still packed in his trunk, but he exchanged the school robes for casual ones and then added a few pairs of comfortable trousers and button-up shirts as well. From what he had seen this morning, the headquarters was first and foremost a house, and so he wouldn't need to wear formal clothes, or even worry about a few wrinkles, not like he had when…well, before certain events had transpired.

The idea of casual dress wasn't quite as odd as it had been when he had first left home. Then, when he had stayed with Mark at the repair shop, the idea of wearing only jeans and a t-shirt, socks optional, had been almost daunting, and he had worn oxfords buttoned all the way up with neatly pressed trousers and polished shoes until Mark had thrown a bag full of jeans and ripped tee's at him and promptly stolen the rest of his clothes. That was when Draco had found the ugly, olive green jacket with the patches and pockets.

Now Draco was glad he was able to dress down comfortably. It was bad enough that his hair color was so noticeable and he didn't want any extra attention. Wearing dress robes, not to mention the most expensive and newly designed ones, would just make him stand out even further.

After he finished packing his clothing he walked into his study. This was the one room that was messy. Papers lay in half-crumbled piles over his desk, and towers of books lined the floor by the bookshelf. Several of them had tumbled because he had yanked their middles out and not bothered to repair them. His walls were still covered in parchment, though now the paper was starting to pull away from the wall.

Draco figured he would have to prioritize his projects. He doubted he could bring all of them to the Order, nor would he even have time for all of them. After all, he would be there until the school was fixed over winter break. That would only be a month, right?

He would finish the Persian Runes, and bring all of his work on the Veritaserum. And then there was the knife in his trunk, the one that had been speared through his arm. He would want to dissect the hexes on the dagger; any weapon that was virtually undetectable was something to be explored. That was three projects. Draco didn't know if that would be enough. If the Order members were too annoying he might be spending a lot of quality time with his work, but he decided that if it was too bad he could just leave.

He packed his work related items in his school bag, shrinking them so that they would fit. He looked regretfully at his keyboard, but he doubted he would have time for anything that…frivolous. He shrank his trunk and pocketed it, casting one look around the empty apartment before he left. For some reason, he didn't feel at all like he was leaving his home. He didn't exactly have one any more. He threw Floo on the fireplace and stepped through.

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Bill slept most of the day in his own bed. When he woke up it was afternoon and his wife was making a cake to bring over to the Order for dinner.

"Does it ever strike you as odd," asked Bill, "that while we are discussing ways to defeat the most powerful dark wizard of our day, and strategizing attacks and defenses, we're doing it while eating dessert? I mean, I like it and all, and it does make this whole thing less intimidating, but it just seems strange."

"I think that's the main reason," said Fleur. "To stop it all from getting too serious, not that it isn't, of course. Now stop pondering and help me frost. I have to do my hair still before we head over."

Bill smiled and complied.

When they did head over to the Order before dinner, Molly was immediately leading Fleur over to a chair where there was a cup of hot chocolate already waiting. She was so excited at the prospect of having her first grandchild that she was constantly seeing to Fleur. Bill could tell that while his wife was perfectly healthy, she enjoyed the attention.

"How's Draco doing?" he asked his mother.

"He came back with his things this afternoon, and Dumbledore helped him set up the back room as a study or something, thought for what I have no clue, and he hasn't come out since."

Bill frowned. "I suppose I should go check on him," he said.

"And then bring him in," his mother called after him. "We're eating in fifteen minutes."

The back room was off a little ways from the kitchen and living room, and the door was shut. Bill knocked before entering, but even then, Draco didn't look over. The walls were covered in parchment which was in turn covered by runes. Draco was staring at a particular section, a marker in his hand. He seemed to figure out whatever it was he had been thinking on because he stepped forward and began writing swiftly, forming the complicated runes as easily as if they had been his original language.

"Have you been making any progress?" asked Bill.

Draco shrugged. "More or less," he said, finally looking over once he was finished writing. "You look better."

"How have you been?" asked Bill.

"Good," said Draco, in the same tones that he used to say 'Fine'. Bill wondered about the switch of words. Did he realize that Bill would only press him further if he said 'fine', or was he genuinely feeling better? Or was Bill just reading far too much into it?

"You're staring," said Draco, turning back to the wall. "I'm fine."

"My mum says you haven't come out of here all day."

"She's obviously mistaken then," said Draco. "I only set this up in the early afternoon. That's hardly all day."

"Don't be a prat," said Bill lightly. "Why are you hiding?"

"You make it sound like I'm scared of your family."

"Are you?"

Draco glanced over at him, but didn't answer.

"They don't bite," said Bill.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"So you are scared," said Bill.

"I'm not scared," said Draco, writing again on the wall. "I don't do crowds well. Besides, I've been doing nothing these past weeks. I'm making up for lost time."

"Draco, these past weeks you've been captured by Voldemort, beaten by Death Eaters, re-diagnosed Ron while you were recovering in the hospital, disowned and then sent through withdrawal."

"Precisely my point," said Draco.

"That doesn't mean you've been doing nothing. Doing nothing makes it sounds like you've been on holiday for the past two weeks."

Draco smirked at that. "World's worst holiday ever," he muttered.

"Don't you think you should give it a break?" asked Bill.

"You're family would drive me insane," said Draco.

"Alright, not a break then, just…take it easy, alright?"

"You don't call staying in the same room all afternoon and barely moving taking it easy?"

"Not when you're doing this," said Bill. "People get paid to do this sort of thing all day. It's an actual job, and working isn't taking it easy."

Draco shrugged. "Maybe it is for me."

"I would hate to see you on a real holiday," said Bill. "Forced to do nothing but lie in bed half the day, and then spend the other half walking on a beach or swimming in the ocean."

"I have been on holidays before, Bill," said Draco.

"Real holidays?" asked Bill.

"Yes, 'real' ones," said Draco, his tone somewhat exasperated, but his lips were upturned slightly, so he couldn't be too annoyed at Bill.

"Good," said Bill. Perhaps his tone was a little too approving because Draco glanced over at him again and rolled his eyes.

"I saw that," said Bill. "And it's dinnertime."

Draco grimaced.

"We're really not that bad," said Bill.

"Speak for yourself," said Draco, but he glanced over at the runes one more time and then set his marker down.

"How long until you have them finished?" asked Bill.

"A week or so," said Draco. "Less if you help me."

Bill raised his eyebrows at that as they walked out of the back room. "Are you asking for help?"

"It was your project in the first place," said Draco. "I've sort of taken it away from you."

Bill gave Draco a smile. "I would like to work on it with you," he said. "And as long as it gets translated, I don't care who does it. Well, scratch that. I wouldn't want Wentworth or someone translating it. They would just crow about for the rest of their lives."

They entered the dining room to find that most of the Weasley family and other residents of Number 12 had gathered already. There was only one seat free next to Fleur, and Bill was wondering if maybe he should sit at the end where there were a few extra seats in a row so that he could sit next to Draco for some friendly support, but to his surprise Draco deliberately walked over to the empty seat in between Harry and Ginny and sat.

That was obviously Draco's way of saying that he didn't need Bill watching out for him all the time, and Bill grinned then sat next to his wife, greeting her with a kiss.

The rest of the family filed in, and there were a few stray looks at the white-blond, but for the most part, the Weasley family appeared to be doing their best in acting as if there was nothing strange about eating dinner with a Malfoy, be he disowned or not. Even Fred and George were subdued and Bill wondered if Molly had warned them off of pranking Draco.

Bill almost wished, as dinner started, that Molly hadn't because while dinner was much less chaotic than breakfast, the conversation was stilted and distinctly uncomfortable. Awkward silences permeated what halting talk there was, and then no one wanted to be the first to break that silence. The third time the conversation stopped, Ginny leaned closer to Draco and whispered something in his ear.

Draco raised a pale eyebrow, and that was all the response, but when silence fell again, Ginny repeated the motion, again whispering. A corner of Draco's mouth rose, and Harry, sitting nearby him, smiled. The third time Draco regained control of his facial features and he suppressed his smile, but Harry snorted, and then flushed when the entire table looked at him. The fourth time Draco whispered something. Ginny smothered a laugh but Harry, who had just taken a sip of pumpkin juice, chocked and sprayed the table. That set Ginny into a fit of giggles and she buried her face in her hands to avoid the looks from the other occupants at the table.

"What exactly is going on here?" asked Mrs. Weasley, her tone reproving, but she was smiling as well.

"Nothing," said Ginny, from behind her hands.

Harry fought back another bout of laughter and mostly succeeded. "Sorry," he managed.

Bill caught Draco's gaze and raised his eyebrows. Draco just smirked and serenely sipped at his pumpkin juice. Bill frowned when Draco didn't answer, but his look had no affected.

"What was so funny?" asked Ron, looking at Harry.

"It wasn't as funny as it was…unexpected," said Harry.

"What was unexpected?"

"That Draco here actually has a sense of humor," said Ginny.

Now everyone was looking at Draco, whose face was blank, but Bill could see the edges of his cold mask pulled up. He obviously wasn't used to the attention.

"Well?" asked Ron.

"We were debating which would be the best way to end the awkward silences," said Ginny. "Draco's won."

The table looked at Draco expectantly. Draco raised an eyebrow and shrugged languidly.

"I was merely suggesting that the Dark Lord's love life might be a startling and new topic of discussion and one which would be interactive but I didn't believe it was actually suitable for the dinner table."

There was a silence again, but one of shock and not discomfort. Sirius ended it by breaking into large guffaws, doubling over in his seat as he laughed. Fred and George joined him and Arthur looked as if he wanted to as well, but he was restraining his mirth because Molly wasn't quite amused. Bill laughed himself, and beside him Fleur was shaking her head as she smiled.

Bill looked over to see that Draco was watching all of them with a guarded expression, but he didn't appear to be as tense as he was when he first walked in the room. There was something else though. Draco should be smirking, or at least, his eyes should be, but he wasn't.

"Wait," said Bill. "You're serious, aren't you?"

The laughter stopped and everyone looked back at the white-blond. Draco looked at Bill.

"I thought it might be more suitable for the Order meeting, but that doesn't mean it loses any of its shock value."

"Voldemort?" asked Harry. "Has a love life?"

"Something I do not want to know," said Fred.

"Nor did I ever want to know," said George.

"Shouldn't there be a law against it?" asked Fred.

"A law of nature?" asked George.

"Plain common sense?"

"An unspoken rule that is glaringly obvious?"

"Like gravity?"

"Perfect example."

"Why, thank you George."

"No problem, Fred."

The twins grinned at each other, and then grinned at the rest of the table. There was one moment, when it looked as if there was going to be another awkward silence, but then Hermione leaned closer to the table, so she could see Ginny, and asked her if she knew of any good clothing stores in Diagon Alley. Arthur began conversing with Sirius and Mrs. Weasley with Fleur. Harry and Ron were debating Quidditch statistics until they realized that there was a genius sitting by them and turned to Draco for verification.

Bill smiled and came to his wife's rescue as Fred and George began pressing to know what they had decided to name their child. They seemed to think 'Gred' was an appropriate name for a little boy, 'Greda' for a girl.

Dinner was finished soon afterwards, and then the table was cleared for the Order meeting. Kingsley was first to arrive, and as he was a bachelor who still hadn't mastered the art of cooking, he helped himself to the leftovers in the kitchen. Tonks and her family arrived next. They immediately sought out Draco to get acquainted with the family member they hadn't been allowed to meet, due to Andromeda's marriage.

Bill watched Draco, noting that he actually seemed to be interested in meeting the family members he had only heard mentioned in whispers. Bill was infinitely glad that Kingsley and Tonks had arrived first because the next member who stepped out was none other than Alastor Moody, and he did not looked pleased. Luckily Minerva was next to show up, with Severus right behind her, and McGonagall was quite adept at keeping Alastor away from Severus, and Bill knew she would do the same with Draco. Now, if they could only keep Severus and Sirius away from each other, things might actually go smoothly.

And for the most part, they did. Of course, Bill now realized exactly why his mother and Dumbledore liked to serve dessert at the Order meetings. Dumbledore welcomed them all, as usual, but then he extended an additional welcome to Draco their newest member. Moody looked like he wanted to say something very cutting indeed, but Dumbledore had timed the introduction right when Alastor had taken a bite of his cake, and so he couldn't say anything at all. Dumbledore continued on.

"As you know Draco has already been a great asset to the Order, having discovered how to pull objects back from the veil in the Department of Mysteries, something we are all very grateful for."

Harry grinned and Sirius nodded in Draco's direction. Draco returned it, but Bill could see that his eyes were still slightly frosted.

"And, as soon as Draco feels up to it, we will go back and pull out Voldemort's Horcrux as well," said Dumbledore. "How's next week sounding Draco?"

Draco shrugged. "Anytime's fine with me."

"I'm sorry," said Andromeda, speaking up. "I must have missed that meeting. How did Draco figure out how to pull objects from the Veil?"

Half the table suddenly frowned, as if suddenly realizing that they had never asked that before. They all looked over at Dumbledore who turned to Draco. "Would you care to explain, Draco?"

Bill watched him shrug, trying to affect an unconcerned expression on his face. "Bill and I translated the Persian Runes," he said.

"You translated them," Bill spoke up. "I just got you started."

"Aren't those untransalteable, though?" asked Mrs. Weasley. She knew that Bill had been working on those runes for awhile now.

"Not anymore," said Draco.

"So how did you translate them?"

Draco glanced up at Bill who raised his eyebrows, urging the boy to spill. Draco frowned, and then glanced at Dumbledore, who was nodding in the 'go ahead' gesture.

Draco sighed. "I'm a genius."

"A what?" asked Fred and George in unison.

"A genius," said Draco. "It means I'm really smart."

Alastor snorted. "You expect us to believe that? You learned it from the Death Eaters, didn't you?"

"Alastor," said Dumbledore, the warning in his voice.

"That's how you saved Ron," said Mrs. Weasley.

"It was just a misdiagnosis," said Draco.

"But you knew what it was."

"And it does explain your certain advancement in Transfigurations," said McGonagall.

"Is that why you didn't join Voldemort?" asked Andromeda.

Bill hid a wince, wondering how Draco was going to react to that personal question.

The white-blond shrugged. "Partly," he said, not exactly answering the question.

"What was the other part?" asked Sirius.

Draco glanced over at Bill. "I guess I just had a good Ancient Runes professor."

Bill felt his mouth stretch into a smile, and he was pretty sure he grinning like a fool.

"Enough of this," said Fred.

"Yeah, we want to hear about more interesting things," said George.

"Like Voldemort's love life."

"What can we say? We are sickly curious."

"What's this?" asked Kingsley.

Half the table looked over at Draco, and Bill could see him flush slightly.

"Claire Jameson," he said, "our student teacher last year, well, she has…a thing for the Dark Lord. When I was teaching her how to translate the runes, I may have, well, set them up."

The entire Order stared at him; Bill glanced at Ginny. She was watching Draco as well, but her expression was unreadable, but that bit of dark in her eyes was pronounced. Bill wondered if she was thinking of the diary, when she had poured out her heart to Tom Riddle.

"You played matchmaker for Voldemort?" Hermione finally asked.

"I was trying to see if the Dark Lord would go the way of Marius Apollo," said Draco.

No one got the reference, except Dumbledore of course.

"You were thinking that Claire might temper Voldemort a little bit?"

"It was a thought," said Draco. "I was also hoping that, if the Aurors didn't show up, I might be able to gain a little of leeway with her."

"Do you think it worked?"

"Well, if anything, he'll at least have a distraction at night."

Fred and George laughed, Sirius chuckled a bit as well. Harry groaned.

"So, the next time I get a vision it might be…?" He trailed off but the Order got what he was trying to say. They just laughed.

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Yay! Second chapter is up. The third will be holding a lot more action, but for now, Draco is settling in as best he can. Please leave a review!


	3. A Storm and a Baby

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I do own the seventh book, which I stood in line for three hours for (and two of those were after the book started selling—sigh). Anyway, loved the seventh, and now I'm sad it's over, but hey, we still have fanfic. Woot!

Author's note: This is a really long chapter…well, longer than usual because after I read the seventh book (in like five hours), I needed to do something to stop the tears at the end of HP series.

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There was a storm that night, but after the initial bout of thunder and lightning, the steady pattern of the rain made it easier to sleep. Still, he was up and dressed before most of the house was stirring. He went downstairs, prepared to work until breakfast, but Sirius Black was already in the dining room drinking a cup of tea and reading the paper.

Draco stopped outside the dining room, not knowing if he wanted to enter and disturb the man, but he had to go through the room to get to his study.

"I don't bite, at least, not when I'm human," said Sirius, looking up from the paper and giving Draco a half-grin. "The kettle's still hot, or you can start a pot of coffee. Kingsley will be around in a bit, so if you do, make enough for him."

Draco hesitated, but then nodded and crossed into the kitchen to start the coffee. When he came back out, Sirius had laid down the newspaper pages he was done with by the empty seat in front of him, not to close to make him uncomfortable, but not far away to stilt a conversation. Draco had forgotten that Sirius had come from a long line of Slytherins, but it was relatively easy to do so. Sirius had been young when thrown into Azkaban, and then he had spent over a year beyond the Veil. His emotional growth was stunted, and paired with Gryffindor attitude, he came across as brash, cocky, and twenty-five.

Draco sat across from Sirius and picked up the paper.

"Early riser then?" asked Sirius, turning a page.

"Yeah," said Draco.

"Well, that's two of us at least. You're on page five, but the way. Have been in the papers since the news broke out about the split in your family."

"Oh," said Draco.

There was silence for a few moments while Draco avoided looking at page five.

"It gets easier," said Sirius, suddenly.

Draco looked up, meeting Sirius' gaze. Sirius gave a sort of wry smile.

"Never thought I'd be saying that to a Malfoy, but then again, you did save my life."

"Not really," said Draco, looking back down and finding an interesting article. "You were caught in a gateway between the physical world and whatever else is out there. You were unable to exist in that temporal plane because it was unsuited for the chemical and electrical impulses we call life. Because of that, you were essentially paused as you were caught in limbo. I just returned your body to its original plane of existence."

There was a silence and Draco looked up to see that Sirius was staring at him. His mother's cousin finally laughed and shook his head.

"Thank you for returning me then. I appreciate it."

Draco nodded and then the fireplace flamed green. Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped out, wearing the red uniform robes of the Aurors.

"Kingsley," said Sirius. "Actually on time today, huh?"

Kingsley grunted and then went straight for the kitchen.

"He won't be able to put two words together before his first cup," said Sirius.

Kingsley returned a few moments later without a large mug of coffee. He sat at the table as well, staring at nothing and drinking his coffee. Draco returned to the article he was reading, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. There was silence again, but it was the comfortable time.

"There was coffee," said Kingsley suddenly.

Draco looked over to see that the Auror had drunk half his mug.

"Who made it?" asked Kingsley.

"Malfoy did," said Sirius, still reading his paper.

"Thanks," said Kingsley.

Draco nodded and then got up to get some himself. It took him a few moments to find the mugs.

"Oi, Malfoy," Sirius shouted from the dining room.

Draco frowned but stepped back so he could see into the other room. Ginny had joined the table, but it was obvious she had just gotten up because she was still in her pajamas and she was somewhat slumped over the table.

"Get a cup of coffee for Ginny, while you're at it?" asked Sirius.

"Yeah," said Draco.

He poured another mug and then added a good amount of cream and a little bit of sugar to the second. He brought them out.

Ginny had taken the seat next to his, and he couldn't very well choose a different seat farther away, and so he slid in next to her and placed the coffees on the table. She looked up blearily.

She obviously hadn't slept well because there were dark circles under her eyes and her face was pale, but it was still apparent that she was a pretty girl, even without any make-up. To be sure, there were a few too many freckles on her face, and her lips weren't quite as full as the current fashion, but her features were still even and pleasing. Her eyes were hazel, an actual hazel, with flecks of green and yellow in the jasper irises, and she had full eyelashes. Her hair was also pretty, but a different shade than the rest of the Weasley children. Instead of being a decided red, her hair was lighter with a golden undertone. Right now it was pulled back in a tangled, sloppy sort of bun, but a few strands escaped and she batted them away, reaching for her coffee.

"Late night, Ginny?" asked Sirius.

"Couldn't sleep," she said, taking a sip of her coffee. She turned to Draco with a surprised smile. "You remembered how I like it."

He shrugged.

"Was it the storm?" asked Sirius. "It was right over the house and the thunder woke me up quite a few times."

Ginny gave a shrug. "Just can't sleep during storms."

Draco could tell she was holding something back, but he wasn't sure what. She couldn't be afraid of the storms, could she? His mind flashed back to the other times he had seen her. The ghoul in the hall in his sixth year, she hadn't been afraid then, not even after she had nearly died. She treated it like a daring stunt on a broom: a few seconds of adrenaline and then a bit of giddy laughter. She had also used the Bat-Boogey Hex on him fifth year. He had underestimated her then, thinking her to still be the shy Weaselette, and the curse had caught him off guard, but just the curse. He had known the attack by Dumbledore's Army was coming and his questions about Pureblood superiority had caused him to let the students 'escape'. No, Ginny didn't seem to be one that would be afraid of thunderstorms, but what other explanation was there?

It was disconcerting how easily the youngest Weasley could occupy his thoughts he realized as he had spent a good few minutes thinking about her. It had happened at the dance as well. Immediately the picture of Ginevra Weasley in that black dress appeared in his mind and he mentally groaned, trying to shove the thought away. What was wrong with him?

He took a few gulps of his coffee, and picked up the paper again. He was just a little off balance, that was all. Moving into a houseful of Gryffindors could do that to anyone.

Mrs. Weasley came down ten minutes later, fussing over Ginny and then Kingsley and Sirius, who both bore her attention with good grace and amusement, before turning to Draco.

"And how are you feeling?" she asked. "You looked a little peaky yesterday. Are you doing better?"

Draco was taken aback. "Um, yeah," he said.

"Would you like anything for breakfast? I was going to start making some eggs and toast and some pancakes, but I can whip up some muffins if you would rather."

Draco blinked. The fact that the Weasley matriarch actually made the meals wasn't surprising, but the fact that she was so concerned over what he wanted as a little startling. Maybe she was trying to be nice because he had saved Ron.

"Whatever you're making is fine," he said. He wouldn't want anything special anyway. The one time Narcissa had cooked something was to make him a 'special' lunch and he had spent the next week high on Angel-Flight. It wasn't that he thought Mrs. Weasley would poison him, but he was a little wary of mothers in general.

He left to his study after breakfast. Most of the Weasley family had made it down for the meal, though Ron and Harry were still sleeping, according to Hermione. It was a much more relaxed meal even though the only ones that actually talked to Draco were Kingsley, Hermione, and Ginny. The rest were still a little wary of him. Not wary of his allegiance, but it wasn't everyday a teenaged genius was present for breakfast. Bill was coming by later that day to join Draco on the runes, and so Draco turned to another project until Bill came, the knife.

For the first time, Draco got a good look at the dagger that had been plunged through his arm. It was old, but well preserved. It was obvious that the sheath was not the original covering for the weapon because the sheath was gold and silver. The silver was twisted into vine like strands with small thorns. The gold was melted into tiny flowers, every petal clearly visible. It was the work of a master, but it was designed for a woman's dagger. Draco suspected it was crafted in the early fourteen hundreds.

The knife was different. The blade was kept sharp and stainless by a number of spells and there was a thin groove down both sides of the blade, which was interesting. Usually only long swords had such fullers, to cut down the weight of the sword without decreasing its strength. This line was not straight, however, but slightly curved and in the shape of a snake.

The hilt was dragon leather, so dark green it was almost black. Twisted several times around the leather was a thin silver snake, the head of which made up the decorative pommel. Its mouth was open, diamond fangs extended, and its eyes were glittering emeralds.

Draco couldn't even begin to guess the long knife's age, but it was old, very old. He placed the knife on the table in front of him and then pulled out an empty notebook, a quill, and some ink.

That was where Bill found him two hours later. By that time he had looked through almost all of the books on old weapons he had brought with him, and some were lying open on the table, while some he had tossed on the floor. He had run a few experiments on the knife, mostly judging the sharpness of the blade, and how well it resisted stain. He had isolated a few of the charms that had been placed on the knife, but even so, the strength of the magic was baffling.

"What's this?" Bill asked, coming into the room.

Draco glanced up, before returning back to the notebook he was writing in.

"Another project," he said. "Just give me a second."

He finished writing the sentence he was on, but Bill had already crossed over to the table and picked up the knife.

"Rather Slytherin," he said, and then he turned to Draco. "Is this-?" he asked, but then trailed off, obviously not wanting to say 'the knife that the Dark Lord impaled your arm with when you were captured because you renounced him for the second time?'

"Yeah," said Draco.

Bill's face twisted into a grimace. "And you're actually studying it?"

"It saved my life," said Draco.

Bill put the knife down. "How's your arm doing?"

"Better," said Draco. "Have you been able to catch up on the dialects I've translated already?"

"That was a deliberate change of topic," said Bill, but he didn't press it any further.

Draco pulled out the journal of the Persian Runes, and flipped it open. He showed Bill the dialects he had translated already and the former professor caught onto the variations quite quickly. They were just debating the switch into the first dialect when Draco felt the first feelings of unease. He brushed it away and turned back to the runes, but the feeling returned. It was an unsettling brush all around him, like the room was suddenly becoming electrically charged.

"What's wrong?" asked Bill, as Draco put down the quill he was writing with.

"Do you feel that?" asked Draco.

"Feel what?"

Draco took a step back from the table. "Something's not right."

"What do you mean not right?" asked Bill. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine, but-," he cut off as the electricity, or whatever it was in the room, seemed to spike. "Tell me you feel that."

"Feel what?" asked Bill.

"It's like…no, it can't be."

"Can't be what?" asked Bill.

Draco ignored him and pulled open the door, striding out of the room.

Fleur was sitting at the dining room table, her face pale while Mrs. Weasley knelt beside her, asking her if she was alright. Hermione and Ginny were there as well, an abandoned card game between them. Bill rushed to his wife's side even as Draco's suspicions were confirmed in his head. Fleur was half-Veela; she would be affected by the weather.

"You feel it too," said Draco.

She looked over at him and nodded.

"Feel what?" asked Bill.

Draco didn't answer. Instead he turned and half-ran out of the dining room, making for the front door. He burst out, noting the few Muggles on the street, but they didn't take note of him until he reached the sidewalk.

It was windy and cold and overcast, a typical December day in England, but the feeling of something not quite right was stronger outside. He gazed up and stared.

The clouds were dark, and rolling across the sky at an impressive rate, but that wasn't what had Draco staring. The clouds were traveling _against_ the wind. It was as if some other force was pulling them back, pulling them so that they were positioned over London.

By now the Muggles on the street were looking up as well, wondering what he was staring at, and he vaguely registered their exclamations and gasps. Bill joined him outside, as did Ginny and Hermione.

Even now, the wind was picking up, and the clouds were growing darker, taking on an almost green tinge. The Muggles around them gave up staring and started running for cover.

"What is that?" Bill asked. He was almost yelling to be heard over the wind.

"It's a storm," Draco shouted back. "A storm created by magic, and look where the worst of it is."

He pointed towards the center of the city where the clouds were black and swirling. The storm was covering all of London, but it was directed at the middle of the capitol, directed right where the Ministry of Magic was stationed. A real storm wouldn't affect the Ministry, but a magical storm could do quite a lot of damage.

The street lights flickered on, and then off. Then on again, but this time they sparked and a few bulbs shattered. Hermione gave a surprised shriek.

"Let's get inside," said Bill.

He didn't have to tell Hermione or Ginny twice, and the littlest Weasley was looking particularly pale. Draco didn't move.

"Draco!"

Draco didn't respond. He wanted to know just what spells had been used to create this storm, and even if this was a magical disturbance, shouldn't the clouds still be blowing in the same direction as the wind?

The rain started suddenly and without any warning sprinkles first. It went from dry to deluge in a second, immediately soaking his hair and shirt. A bolt of lightning flashed a few streets down and the light was blinding, ten times more intense than a normal bolt. The thunder that accompanied cracked so loudly Draco felt his heart pound in his chest, and then the remaining street lights burst.

A hand closed around his right arm, and then Bill was pulling him inside.

"What do you think you are doing?" he demanded.

"A magically caused storm shouldn't do that," said Draco. "It shouldn't be this big either."

Behind him the door opened and Arthur Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt stumbled in, completely drenched.

"They evacuated the Ministry," said Arthur. "Dumbledore felt something was off, and Severus got us the news just in time. About half of the workers got out before the Floo fizzled out; the rest had to take the visitor entrances."

"Fizzled out?" asked Bill.

"Yes," said Arthur, heading into the kitchen. The rest followed him. "The entire Floo network completely shut down."

"Arthur!" Molly Weasley exclaimed, greeting her husband with a hug and kiss.

Draco noticed how their expressions both lighted up when they saw each other, and how Mrs. Weasley seemed relieved that her husband was home and safe. It was completely demonstrative, showing a deep affection, and right out in the open, which Draco never thought was a good idea, but for some reason, right then, it was almost touching.

"And look at you, completely soaked," the woman fussed. She pulled out her wand, intent on casting a few drying charms no doubt, but Draco spoke up.

"Using spells and magic right now isn't a good idea."

Everyone turned to look at him, so he pulled out his own, pointed it towards the door, and tried a simple lighting spell. At first, the light shone in a steady, bright beam, but then there was a crack of lightning and his wand sparked, the light exploding from the tip, nearly blinding the room before it spluttered out.

"We should also gather in a room that has the fewest number of magical objects because the storm is going to activate them, or worse."

"The living room," said Mrs. Weasley.

Sirius, Harry, and Ron were already in this room, having pulled back the drapes over the large window so they could watch the storm. They welcomed the rest in with grins.

"Have you seen this?" Ron asked his father. "It's wicked."

"It is wicked," said Arthur, "in the most literal sense of the word."

"You mean this is Voldemort?" asked Harry.

"The dark magic monitors were off the chart in the Auror department," said Kingsley. "They called in all the warders they could in hopes to save most of the Ministry, but this storm is powerful. No weather spells should be able to create this size of a storm, not even the darkest ones."

"They didn't create it," said Draco. He crossed closer to the window. "This is the storm from last night. They're pulling it back."

"How can you tell?" asked Hermione.

"See the wind? Now look at the clouds."

There was a short silence.

"The clouds are moving the other way," said Harry. "That's not natural."

"It must be some sort of localized time-distortion spell," said Draco.

"I've never read anything like this," said Hermione.

"This is completely new," said Draco. "Innovative, even."

"Time control doesn't run this way though," said Hermione. "Yes, we can send people in the past, but that's completely different from taking a past event and pulling it in reverse."

"This is ground-breaking in time control," agreed Draco. "And for the spell to only affect the atmosphere is astounding as well, although, actually that was probably the only factor they could control to such an extent. Running anything living in an essential reverse is ridiculous, even in theory, because that would mean they would have to run life backwards. They also had to use some rather strong weather spells. Nebulosa, to start with, but they would have had to add a time spell." He paused for a second. "That's not right because a time spell would have to be focused on an item. Scrap that, they would have started with a containment field, _then_ the weather spells, nebulosa and a few darker ones. I'll actually have to read the weather reports to figure out which ones. Then the time spells, maybe even a time turner. If they could have anchored the shield in place with a physical object, and wrapped that in a time turner, and with the right accompanying spells," he paused again, taking in the enormity of what he had just figured out. "That's incredible. Of course, they would have to have a large field to do this, and somewhere up north, because they would have to harness the storm after it past. I can run this in theory, and figure out how long it would have taken to control the storm and send it backwards. The storm was moving pretty quickly, forty miles an hour, maybe, which means I can take that time and trace the storm, and figure out where they started the reverse. Shouldn't be too hard if-,"

He suddenly was aware that he had said that all out loud and that the Order was staring at him. He flushed; he knew he did, and he was thankful that the magical lamps decided to go out in that moment, plunging the room into shadow. Only the light from the window shone in, and with the cloud coverage, that light was dim.

He could hear Sirius and Kingsley laugh somewhere near Harry, and Bill had the audacity to smirk at him.

"Well, I guess he was right about being a genius," said Sirius. "I couldn't understand half of what he said."

He flushed further, stepping back from the window, and the next bolt of lightning lit up the sky enough so that he could see the entire room. Everyone was crowded around the window, drawn in by the flurry of the storm. Even Fleur was sitting on the chair closest to the window. Ginny Weasley, however, was sitting on the sofa in the back of the room, sitting in a relaxed pose, but her hand was clutching a throw pillow and her jaw was set.

Draco slipped back from the window during the next spectacular display of lightning and crossed over to Ginny. He sat in the armchair beside the couch.

"Scared, Weasley?" he asked, his voice not mocking or condemning, just even.

"No," Ginny responded, but her voice was a little too forceful.

"Not exactly convincing," he told her.

"I'm not trying to convince you."

"No, you're just trying to convince yourself, aren't you?"

Her eyes flashed, throwing Draco off for a moment. She was scared, but he didn't think she was that affected by being afraid. She was about to respond but there was a crash of thunder and she clenched the pillow tighter. Her breath was hitching now and she was so tense she was trembling; she wasn't scared, she was terrified.

A peculiar picture passed through Draco's head in that moment, a picture in which he reached out and took her hand, only to pull her closer to him, his arm wrapping around her back where he could feel her warm, smooth skin through her t-shirt, and he pressed her close to him, protecting her…

"Don't you dare look at me like that!" Ginny hissed suddenly and Draco started. How did she know what he was thinking? She couldn't have had that picture of him and her in mind as well.

"I am fine," Ginny continued in a harsh whisper, as to not attract attention from the rest of her family. "I don't need your sympathy or your comfort, alright?"

He thought back, trying to remember if he had let anything from his facial features slip, and he realized that he had let his guard down slightly. She must have picked up on his…what? Protectiveness? Since when did he feel protective over anyone? Besides Laney of course, but this wasn't just protection he was feeling for Ginny Weasley, this was something…more.

Screw that, he didn't feel anything for her. He didn't do innocent, remember?

He affected a cold expression. "I am a Malfoy. We don't do sympathy."

"You're not exactly a Malfoy anymore though, are you?"

The barb struck, and he cataloged a grudging recognition of her words as well as the sting. He hadn't thought her capable of such a remark, but he could see, in the dim light, that little bit of darkness in her eyes was taking precedence. He had obviously interrupted when she was battling some personal demon, and she had lashed out. The question was, what demon could a sixteen year old Weasley have?

He wanted to delve deeper. His curiosity was one of his weakest links in his guard. After all, hadn't it been part curiosity that had him join Bill that first evening after Ancient Runes class? He had been intrigued, wondering what the eldest Weasley boy could have that would interest him, but he had also wondered what it would be like for someone to know his secret, for someone who he could talk with. And now look where he was, in the Order of the Phoenix with over twenty people that knew his secret. And so yes, he was curious. He wanted to know exactly what dark secret Ginny Weasley was hiding.

Draco tried peering deeper, but than there was a gasp from one of the people by the window. He turned to see Fleur Weasley doubled over, clutching at her round belly while the Order grouped around her.

"Fleur, what is it?" asked Bill.

"The baby," Fleur managed between gasps. "The baby's coming."

"We have two weeks," said Bill sounding panicked.

"Not any more," said Fleur, then she cut off another moan.

Draco frowned. He didn't think contractions were supposed to come that close together so soon.

"What do we do?" asked Bill, but Mrs. Weasley was already barking orders.

"Get every candle you can find and bring it in here. Spread some blankets on the floor, and get some pillows. We also need towels, clean towels."

Hermione and Harry grabbed the blankets; Ron ran upstairs; Sirius went to get the candles. It took a few moments, but when the room was finally lit with over thirty candles, Fleur was half-reclined on the floor, panting and sweating. Mrs. Weasley held one hand, trying to get Fleur to mimic her breathing, but there were too many people, too much confusion.

Kingsley knelt down beside them. "My partner's wife gave birth at home. I was there because he was away on a mission. They had a mid-wife, but I helped."

"Good," said Molly, "because I've only been on the birthing end."

There was another bolt of lightning. Fleur gasped again.

"The baby, something's wrong."

"What's wrong?" asked Bill, brushing the hair away from her forehead.

"My baby's not moving anymore. I can't feel him moving!"

Kingsley pressed his hand on Fleur's womb, but he shook his head. "I can't tell."

Bill swept the room with his eyes, trying to find someone who knew what to do. His gazed locked with Draco's.

"Draco, please tell me you've read about this."

"Read about it, yes," said Draco, shaking his head, "but years ago."

"But you said you never forget."

"Reading and doing are two completely different things-," Draco started, trying to explain that he didn't think he would be of any help.

"You healed Snape's lung."

"That was a lung, not childbirth," Draco tried to argue, but Bill's eyes were desperate. He was pleading.

"Draco, please."

Draco took a breath, calling up everything he could in his mind. Sweet Merlin, there must be someone better suited for this than him. He could do a quick fix, yes, but actually help Fleur give birth? He hated most children, he was terrible at caring for things, and even his flobberworms in Hagrid's class could never seem to reproduce. Did Bill understand that?

"I'm not a Healer, Bill."

"But right now you're the only person who has the faintest idea of what to do."

Draco looked around to see that Bill was right. "I'm not making any promises," he said, and walked forward. He knelt by Fleur and placed a hand on her womb. She was right, the baby wasn't moving. He reached out with a bit of magic. It wasn't wandless magic, just a searching of life from one magical creature to another. He would have liked to do a spell, but a wand created a concentrated force, something that the lightning would affect and distort. The baby's heartbeat was faint and erratic. There was the faint buzz of electricity, and he pulled his magic back just as there was a bolt of lightning. When he reached out again, the heartbeat was fainter.

"I need hot water and soap," he began, rolling up his sleeves. "We have to get the environment as sterile as possible. I also need every potion and medical kit you can find. Ron, throw me some of those towels."

Ron did so and Draco spread the towels underneath Fleur's legs.

"I also need the room as empty as possible, so if you're not doing anything vital, you can leave."

The room cleared out and Draco got up as well.

"Bill, help Fleur take her trousers off," he said, not exactly wanting to do so himself. He was a little uncomfortable with this.

"Yeah," said Bill.

Draco walked back a few steps and Kingsley joined him.

"The baby's heartbeat is erratic," he told the Auror quietly. "And her water hasn't even broken yet. Veela's are affected by the weather, and Fleur's part Veela and witch, so this magical storm is affecting her even more. I don't think the baby's going to survive a natural birth, not when we have no professional help."

Kingsley looked grave, glancing over at Fleur on the floor. "Can we do anything?"

Draco gave a short laugh, but it was cold. "There are always options. The question is, which one is less likely of killing any of them?"

"At times like this, you ask the mother. Only she has the right to choose," said Kingsley.

Draco nodded, swallowing hard. He had known that of course, but the mother almost always chose the option that had the best odds for the baby, discounting her own health. The father almost never understood. His reluctance must have shown in his eyes because Kingsley spoke again.

"The only way he would hate you is if you did nothing."

Draco glanced up, but then Bill's voice brought him back.

"Draco, her water broke!"

Draco turned, seeing the towel draped over Fleur's hips for privacy and then the liquid soaking the towels under her and wondering, for a split second, if maybe he wouldn't have to tell them anything, but then he came closer. The liquid wasn't supposed to be that pink, and more red was leaking out. Fleur was bleeding.

"This is good, right?" Bill was asking, not seeing the blood and taking Fleur's hand again. Fleur knew the truth, however, women usually did. She was looking at him, and the worried, scared expression in her eyes told him she knew what he was going to say.

"Fleur," said Draco calmly, "the storm is affecting you and your child. Right now you are bleeding and I can't risk any spells to stop that. Your baby will most likely not survive a live birth; the trauma will kill it. That leaves us with two options. You can give birth normally and hope for the best, or I can try a Caesarian, cutting you open and taking the baby out. Caesarians are performed every day in Muggle hospitals, however I have no equipment. The baby will most likely survive the surgery, but it could be dangerous for you. I have to know your decision."

"No," said Bill. "No way you are performing surgery on her." His tone was flat, hard.

"Bill," said Draco, looking him in the eye. "It's not your decision."

"No," said Bill, turning to Fleur. "Sweetie, don't. Ddon't risk it."

She looked up at him and smiled through her pain. "It's our baby," she told him. "I can't do that." She looked at Draco. "Try the Caesarian."

Draco nodded.

The door open and Hermione hurried in, her arm full of potions and medical kits. She piled them on the floor and went to leave but Draco stopped her.

"Granger, I need a knife," he said and upon hearing Bill's sharp intake of breath, "also a Muggle radio if you have one. One with battery power."

"I have one, but what for?"

"Just get it, quickly."

Mr. Weasley entered the room with a pot full of steaming water and a bar of soap. He set it a few feet away from Fleur, and Draco made sure that his sleeves were properly rolled up. His shirt was still wet from his trip outside and so the material wasn't moving. He plunged his hands in the water and then lathered up before rinsing. Kingsley followed suit. Sirius came in with another pot of hot water.

"Put it beside Fleur," said Draco, "but not too close."

Hermione came in with the radio and Harry entered with an arm full of knives. "We didn't know what you needed them for, so…," he put them beside the hand washing water.

"Granger, put the radio by Bill and play something soothing," said Draco. "Potter, send in Ginny, will you? Granger, stay here as well."

Hermione found a radio station playing soft jazz and then Ginny came in, shutting the door behind her.

"I need you two to grab a blanket and hold it as a screen," said Draco.

"A screen, for what?" asked Hermione.

"Ever hear of a c-section?" asked Draco.

"A what? You can't do that!" Hermione exclaimed.

"The storm's affecting the baby, and this is the only way to be sure that it lives." He picked through the bottles of potion and found quite a few localized pain relievers, two anti-bacterial cleansers, and a sleep-aid. He couldn't make a numbing potion out of this. He looked up at Ginny. "Can you do this?" he asked.

She nodded, her face set. He knew she would pull through if needed.

"Good," he said.

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Bill watched as Ginny and Hermione held up a blanket between them, the bottom draping over Fleur's chest and then stretching so that her lower half was cut off. He gripped Fleur's hand tighter. He couldn't see what Draco was doing; he didn't think he wanted to.

"It's going to be okay," he told her. "It's going to be fine."

"Fleur," came Draco's voice, "I'm applying a crude form of numbing potion to your stomach. If it hurts, just let me know, and I can put some more on, alright?"

He sounded so calm, as if he was merely putting a bandage on a paper cut. It was reassuring, but Bill wondered how nervous he really was.

Fleur flinched at something, and he was immediately bending closer.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"Cold," she said. "Surprised me."

She suddenly gasped and tensed. Another contraction.

"Fleur," said Draco from somewhere beyond the blanket. "Do not tense up. I know it's hard, but you have to fight back the contraction, okay? Just relax, it's going to be okay, but you have to relax."

Fleur nodded, her face dripping with sweat. She never sweated before; she said that if anything, ladies 'glistened'. Bill hated to see her like this, and there were sounds beyond the curtain, sounds of knives and he didn't want to listen. He turned up the radio, blocking out whatever Draco and Kingsley were doing.

"Fleur, you love this song," he said, moving so that he was sitting, not kneeling, his back to the blanket. She looked up at him, biting back a gasp and a cry.

"Just listen," he said.

_Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away…_

Fleur screwed up her face and there was the soft sound of a knife cutting through flesh. She gasped. Bill, sitting closest to the blanket, could just make out Draco's voice.

"Kingsley, getting the numbing potion, and soak the skin as much as possible. It's most effective right as it sits in, so I'm going to follow you with the knife. Watch your fingers."

"Got it," said Kingsley's deep voice.

Bill tuned them out, not wanted to hear what was happening. He wife was in pain, and he could do a thing. He could only hold her hand.

_Come fly with me, let's take off into the blue…._

He mouthed the words to her, rubbing her hand now. There was a muffled curse from behind the curtain, Draco's voice. No one else said 'merde' quite like he did. There was a squelching noise and he nearly gagged. He concentrated on the song and on Fleur's face. He mouthed the words to her.

_Once I get you up there, where the air is rarified…_

Her face screwed up again; he swallowed hard. He could hear Kingsley say something to Draco in a quickened tone, but so quietly Bill couldn't make out the words. He did catch the tone thought. Worried. Unsure. Afraid.

_We'll just glide, starry-eyed, once I get you up there…_

Fleur groaned. He couldn't hear Draco or Kingsley anymore. What were they doing? Did something go wrong? Was it all too late?

Please, no, he thought silently.

Fleur gasped, her hand tightening on Bill's.

Take the baby if you have too, Bill thought. Take the baby, but not my wife. Not my wife, please.

_I'll be holding you so near, we'll hear the angels cheer – just because we're together…_

There was a loud cry, a child's cry, a baby's cry. For a second everyone looked over at the blanket, and then the cry hiccupped and continued. Fleur gave a gasping laugh and Bill laughed as well, wondering if maybe this would all turn out alright after all. His gaze locked with Fleur's and he saw tears in her blue eyes.

"That's our baby!" she said.

His mother was laughing now, patting Fleur's hand, reaching over to grab Bill's free one. He could see Ginny and Hermione watching the going on's behind the blanket and they were both staring. He could just hear Draco's, 'Merlin, I hate children', and then Kingsley ducked around the blanket, a bundle in his hands. It was a bloody, tiny bundle, wrapped up in a soft towel and there was a red, wrinkled face peeping out from the folds. It appeared to be trying to scream its face off.

"It's a boy," said Kingsley, gently placing the bundle in Molly's hands. Bill could see Fleur straining to see her baby, to hold her baby, and he wondered why Kingsley hadn't given the baby to her. Why hadn't he given the baby to him? Why was Kingsley looking so somber? He looked back at his wife and he knew why. Fleur was pale, too pale.

"Kingsley, get the hell back here!" came Draco's voice.

Bill completely forgot about the miracle of birth. "What's going on?" he demanded. "What's wrong?"

"Did you see our baby?" asked Fleur, turning to him with a smile on her face, but her eyes were glazing. "Our pretty baby?"

Bill looked across at his mother who was holding his child, his son, in her arms but she was looking at Fleur in alarm.

"No," said Bill. He scrambled to his feet, darting around Hermione so that he could see what was happening. He almost wished he hadn't because he had no desire to see inside a person, but it was his wife. He needed to know. "What happened?"

"She's bleeding out," said Draco. He was holding something blood soaked, and Bill had to look away.

"Is she going to be okay?" he asked.

"Not if I can't get the bleeding stopped, and I could get the bleeding stopped if it would just stop storming outside," Draco's voice was curt. He was worried.

Bill was about to ask what the hell the storm had to do with anything, when suddenly he saw. There was a bolt of lightning and Fleur jerked. Draco swore, grabbing another towel.

"Why the storm?" asked Bill.

"Because Veela's are affected by the weather, but Fleur's also a witch, so the magic and the storm combined are playing havoc with her body which is already in a state of shock due to the rather intrusive surgery just performed," Draco snapped back.

"Bill?"

That was Fleur and Bill ran back to kneel in front of Fleur. "What is it?" he asked, cupping her face.

"I just...," Fleur trailed off, her eyes staring at something he couldn't see.

"No!" said Bill. "Fleur, honey, stay awake, stay focused!"

Her eyes turned to his. "Did you see our baby? So beautiful, so…beautiful."

"No, Fleur, baby, stay with me, okay? Stay with me?" He was begging now.

"I just wish…just wish it would stop storming," said Fleur, in a day-dreaming voice. She didn't know what she was saying.

There was a beat and then Draco ground out "Stupide!" It was with the French pronunciation, and it sounded as if he was criticizing himself. "Kingsley," Draco's voice demanded. "How good are you at healing charms?"

"I thought the storm prevented magic."

"If I found a way to block out the storm, could you fix her?"

A pause. "Yes," said Kingsley.

"Good," said Draco. "Just don't report me. Bill, Granger, Weasley, get back."

Everyone looked over at him, or over at the blanket that still separated them.

"Get back to the edges of the room," Draco demanded again. "Now. All of you."

Ginny and Hermione obeyed, as did Molly, gently holding the bundle which was still screaming away, letting them know that the baby was alive. Bill looked over at Draco who was now visible, the screen gone. His hands were covered with blood, all the way up to his elbows, and Kingsley was similarly splattered.

"I'm staying here," said Bill.

Draco nodded, then turned to Kingsley. "When I put the shield up, start."

"Shield?" asked Kingsley. "What-?"

Draco pulled out his wand, and after the next bout of lightning, called out "Contego!"

A blue, shimmering light suddenly burst around the four, holding them in a dome.

"Start healing," said Draco.

"What is this?" asked Bill, even as Kingsley pulled out his wand and started muttering incantations.

"A shielding spell," said Draco. "Particularly good at blocking dark spells, and at the moment, that's what the storm is, that is what's making the magic go haywire. Because it is a shield spell-,"

He cut off as a bolt of lightning illuminated the room, but it seemed to reflect off the shield, and Fleur didn't move. Draco swallowed, as if forcing something unpleasant away.

"Well, it does that," he said. "Kingsley, how is it going?"

"I stopped the bleeding, but I can't close this."

Bill glanced over at Draco who was frowning.

"Did you try integro?"

"And resarcio," said Kingsley, "but look."

Draco leaned forward, but Bill didn't. The sight of Fleur's blood was making him ill.

"What now?" asked Kingsley.

"Try resarcio again, sometimes it just needs another go."

Kingsley nodded and tried the spell. There was a violent bout of lightning, as storms are bound to do as they are dying out. It made Bill jump at the shock. The shield flickered once, Fleur gasped in pain, Kingsley called out 'Draco!' The blue light solidified.

"Sorry," said Draco, but his voice was strained. "Did it work?"

"No, and she's bleeding again."

"Kingsley, have you ever used 'contego'?"

"No, but I can. It's something they teach us for special battles even though the official stance is that the spell is banned."

"Good. I need you to call up a shield under mine."

"What are you going to do?"

"Drop my shield and use 'percuro'."

"If you haven't used that spell before-,"

"I have, and Snape is fine."

Kingsley frowned but Bill spoke up. "That's the one you used on his lung."

Draco nodded.

"Alright," said Kingsley, and then he pulled up an additional shield. Draco let his own fade out and then he pressed his wand on Fleur's stomach. He cast the curse silently, but it was easy to see that it was working. Bill watched, entranced, as Fleur's breaths started deepening. A bit of color came into her face even as Draco paled, just like he had when he healed Snape.

Bill knew why; these spells used the caster's energy to heal the other. That was why so many potions were used now instead of spells.

Draco broke the spell off after a minute, taking in a breath and bracing himself with a hand on the floor.

"Draco," said Bill, worried for the boy.

"She's just sleeping," said Draco, misunderstanding the concern in his voice. He reached out and grabbed Fleur's wrist, pressing two fingers on the underside. He was silent for a few moments, but then released Fleur's hand. "Her pulse is steady," he said.

"The rain is stopping," said Kingsley, looking through the blue light to the window, but it was still apparent that the storm was ending because the outside sky was growing lighter.

Kingsley let the blue light disappear, the strain on his face easing as well. Bill turned to Draco, not liking the fact that the boy was so pale, but at the same time, completely grateful. He caught Draco's gaze, all of his thanks and gratitude and relief in his eyes and Draco nodded.

Bill opened his mouth the say something, but then his mother came forward and placed the tiny bundle in his arms. Bill stared at his son who blinked up at him with the widest eyes Bill had ever seen.

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And of course the song is 'Come Fly with Me', sung first by Sinatra and then by Michael Buble, or however you spell his name. So, crazy chapter, and in the next, we learn what they name the baby. Leave one (a review, not a baby).


	4. A Cryptic Message

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, paying my college tuition wouldn't be such a big deal.

Author's note: Hey. I am so sorry for making you all wait a month. It has just been crazy around here, not a bad crazy exactly, but just hectic. So, apologies again, thank you to all of my reviewers, and here's the next chapter.

p.s. Did I mention I was sorry?

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Kingsley let the 'contego' shield drop. The room brightened in an instant, the shades of red coming into view now that the blue dome was gone. Draco glanced outside and saw the clouds thinning, now white instead of grey. He looked back down to Fleur, but caught Bill's gaze instead.

The hazel eyes were thankful, more than thankful, and Draco nodded, but more out of relief. He was a genius, not a surgeon, and the fact that Fleur actually pulled through was more testimony to a mother's strength and pure, damn luck.

Bill opened his mouth, no doubt about to annunciate his gratitude, but then Molly Weasley was there, handing over the crying infant to his father. Draco watched as Bill held his son, the newborn's cries slowly subsiding, and the two just stared at each other. The rest of the room stared at them, grinning sappily. Altogether, it was an emotive, touching scene that Draco could have done without.

He rolled his eyes and then scourgified the blood off of his hands and arms. It took him two tries and he frowned. He needed a strong cup of coffee, or a shot of Ogden's whiskey. _Or a sip of Angel Flight_.

Draco paused at that unbidden thought, but instead of pushing it away, he turned it over carefully in his mind, examining it. He was pleased to determine that it was only slightly stronger than a whim. The knowledge of the drug was always in his mind; whenever he drank an alcoholic beverage, he always knew he could go one step further. The thought of Angel Flight was more pressing than that knowledge, but only by a hair. It was an itch in the back of his mind, and Draco could easily ignore an itch. In a few days, it would fade.

He really could use a cup of coffee though -- he was completely drained. Calling up the shield took energy, and using the healing charm was akin to giving blood, but instead of a transfusion of red blood cells, he was giving a bit of his magical reserves. He could always go to bed a bit early to recover thought, so he wasn't too worried.

There were suddenly voices in the other room, or rather, those who were in the dining room became louder, and Draco could distinguish the even tones of Albus Dumbledore. The door into the living room opened and the Headmaster stepped in, quickly crossing to Fleur.

He preformed an advanced diagnostic charm and then looked to Bill and preformed the same on the baby.

"Molly," he said, not looking up from the child, "would you Floo over to the school, the infirmary entrance, all the others are not yet operational, and ask Poppy to come over. I think she will be able to look after Fleur now that all of the excitement is over."

"The school nurse?" inquired Mrs. Weasley.

"Poppy's been aware of our little group for some time now," said Dumbledore, as Mrs. Weasley got up to leave. "Merlin knows I can't put much past her." He suddenly twinkled as the newborn flailed a tiny arm. "And Poppy will take a look at you too, yes she will, although I think she will find you perfectly healthy." He pronounced the last with a soft touch to the baby's nose.

Draco wondered what it was about babies that caused adults to beam ridiculously. And the high 'baby' voices were obnoxious as well. Yes, children did hear higher-pitched frequencies better than low ones, but honestly, it was an infant. It really didn't understand anything that was said to it.

"A boy?" asked Dumbledore to Bill.

"Yes," said Bill.

"He is a beautiful child," said Dumbledore. "Who preformed the caesarian?"

Bill looked over to Draco and Dumbledore smiled. "Of course. Do you have an interest in Healing, Draco?"

Draco would have shrugged, but he was too tired. "I read the concept in a book once."

"You appear to be quite adept for simply reading about the procedure."

"It's really just knowing the human anatomy."

"Have you ever considered a career in Healing?"

Draco raised an eyebrow and snorted.

Pomfrey bustled into the room, immediately kneeling next to Fleur and casting half a dozen different, detailed diagnostic charms. She looked up at the room in irritation.

"I'm with a patient."

Ginny and Hermione made their way out of the room, being besieged by the rest of the Weasley clan once they left the door, but then Dumbledore stepped out and seemed to disperse the crowd. Draco took Kingsley's proffered hand and allowed himself to be hoisted to his feet. There was a moment of dizziness, but he had prepared for it and managed to walk out the door without swaying. His inner ear found his balance by the time he reached the dining room, and Charlie Weasley slipped past him and into the living room before the door shut.

Dumbledore had sent the rest of the family upstairs to check for damage caused by the storm and Draco was relieved at the lack of people. He didn't think he was up to answering any questions. He walked straight into the kitchen and fumbled for the coffee.

Dumbledore neatly swiped the can from him and then firmly guided him back into the dining room. Draco didn't offer much resistance but sat in the chair the Headmaster directed him towards. Dumbledore summoned a chocolate bar from the kitchen, unwrapped it, and set it in front of Draco.

"Eat this," said Dumbledore. "Hermione, if you wouldn't mind, I think you could all do with a spot of tea?"

"Of course," said Hermione. Ginny followed her into the kitchen to help.

Draco broke off a square of the chocolate and bit into it. It was a good brand, not too sweet. He wondered how much of the comfort he felt was really from the cocoa and how much of it was purely psychological, but he was too tired to do much more than wonder. He broke off a second piece.

"How's the Ministry, Kingsley?" Dumbledore asked, summoning the Auror his own chocolate bar because the Auror was looking worn.

"Impossible to tell," said Kingsley. "The storm was just getting started when we were evacuated, but even then…," he trailed off and shook his head. "They brought in all of the warders they could to pull up shields so hopefully that helped some. I hear you felt the storm coming a long way off."

"It is one of the benefits of old age," said Dumbledore. "My right knee aches when a storm is coming and my left throbs in the presence of strong dark magic."

"So both of them ached then?"

"No," said Dumbledore. "My toes were particularly tender this morning."

The two Gryffindor girls returned with the tea, Ginny setting a mug in front of Draco with a small smile.

"Ah, thank you, Hermione," said Dumbledore, as he accepted his own mug and then he turned back to Kingsley. "I realized something was causing my toes to ache later in the day and Severus realized something was wrong after a few of his more volatile potions reacted so he made a few inquires. It turns out Tom has been more active than we first thought. We understood the small amount of revels and raids to be an indication that he hadn't gained the necessary support for something larger, but now it appears he was just hiding 'under the radar', as the Muggles say."

"The storm didn't really make your toes ache though, did it?" asked Hermione awkwardly. She obviously felt inquiring after the Headmaster's toes was rude, but curiosity wouldn't let her keep silent.

"The storm was made of dark spells," Dumbledore explained. "After repeated exposure to such magic, one requires a certain feel for the curses, much like older fishermen can tell when a storm is coming even when the skies are clear."

"Is that how you knew?" asked Ginny.

There was a pause and Draco looked up from his tea to see that she was staring at him expectantly.

"Oh." He gave a half shrug. "I'm familiar with dark magic, so yeah, I was more attuned to the storm."

"Draco here has already dissected half of the storm," said Kingsley to Dumbledore.

"Not really," said Draco. "It's just a theory."

"Still, quite an accomplishment," said Dumbledore. "We'll have to let you poke about a bit at the Ministry then and see if you can't find out more about the storm."

Draco nodded, actually quite excited about having a chance to survey the damage. The living room door opened and Pomfrey stepped out.

"I thought you would like to know that Bill and Fleur have a healthy son, fifteen inches long and seven pounds. A little small, but that isn't surprising."

"And Fleur?" asked Ginny.

"Sore, exhausted, and a little tender, but the surgery, while crude, went incredibly well. She'll be off her feet for a week, just to be on the safe side, and we'll be watching her for any sign of infection, but she'll recover. I am told that it is thanks to you, Mr. Malfoy, after using an illegal shield charm and a spell that requires certification from a medi-wizard to perform legally." Her tone was on the side of disapproving.

Draco met her gaze and raised an eyebrow. Pomfrey frowned.

"You do look a bit peaky," she said, crossing over to him and raising a hand to lay on his forehead. He jerked away.

"I'm fine."

"Let me be the judge of that," said Pomfrey. "It's amazing you aren't falling asleep right now. And look at you, you're soaking wet. What did you do? Stand outside in the storm?"

Draco looked down. He was still damp, wasn't he? The discomfort had been pushed out of mind when he had been delivering the baby, and afterwards the exhaustion had taken precedence. Now, however, he was experiencing the full irritation of damp clothing, but he merely shrugged.

"Only for a few minutes," he said.

Kingsley snorted and Pomfrey rounded on him.

"Don't think I haven't forgotten about you. You're next on the check up. There is a reason that spell is illegal."

She dug into her bag and pulled out a vial. "Drink," she told Draco.

Draco looked at the liquid before downing it. The potion was simply a blend of energy restoring drafts and vitamins, and he couldn't detect any sleep aids.

The living room door opened and Charlie stepped through.

"Fleur's finished the medicine," he said to the nurse.

"Good," said Pomfrey. She turned back to Draco. "I want you to take a hot shower after you finish that chocolate bar and then it's straight to bed, understand?"

"I was-," Draco started but the nurse frowned. He cut himself off as he realized that Dumbledore was echoing Pomfrey's unrelenting expression and he rolled his eyes.

"Fine."

He bit into another piece as she left, calculating exactly how long he could make the bar last. He frowned when he realized the room seemed to be revolving slowly in a clockwise manner. He wasn't that tired; he really wasn't. He blinked, forcing the room to a stand still, but then it began drifting the other way.

It took him a few moments to realize that Dumbledore and Kingsley were exchanging looks after glancing his way and they weren't even being coy. They really didn't have to with how spacey he was being at the moment.

He stood. "I'm heading up."

He moved towards the stairs, but then Charlie was there.

"You need some help?" the red-haired dragon keeper asked.

"Unless I suddenly revert to a state of being reminiscent to my toddler years, no, I should be able to navigate a flight of stairs with a successful result."

Charlie grinned but his cheeks reddened slightly. Draco took a small amount of pity on him.

"Bill told you to check up on me, didn't he?"

"He's a little worried," Charlie admitted.

"Tell him I'm fine."

Draco continued up the stairs, stopping by his room to grab a pair of clean sweat pants and a worn t-shirt before continuing to the bathroom. He was relieved to strip off his wet clothes, and even more relieved to step into the hot shower. His back stung under the spray; his burns were almost healed, but still a little tender.

He checked them as well as he could when he stepped out of the shower, turning around and straining to see the reflection in the mirror that had an anti-steam charm on it, mostly likely put on by one of the girls in the house. It was only when he looked at the tattoo that the silence in the back of his mind was noticeable. It had been busy in the house, and for the noise and distraction, he was grateful.

He pulled on the loose pajama pants, giving the burns one last check. They could use a little more salve, but that would mean finding someone to help him which would mean letting someone see. He pulled on his t-shirt; the salve wasn't necessary.

There was a knock on the door.

"I'm out," he said, pulling the door open, expecting to see Ginny or Hermione standing there. Instead it was Sirius.

"How are you doing?" the man asked.

Draco immediately knew by the look in his eyes what he was talking about. "It's loud here," he said simply.

Sirius gave a wry grin. "It usually isn't this eventful," he said, but then stopped and reconsidered. "Alright, so there's usually something going on, but this is the first time a baby's been born in the middle of a freak storm."

Draco felt a half-smile tug at the corner of his lip.

"How's your back?" asked Sirius suddenly. He held up a small jar of burn salve. "I thought you could use this, and I figured you wouldn't want anyone else to, well, it is…personal, and hard for other people to understand who haven't grown up with the culture."

Draco hesitated, but then nodded. Sirius unscrewed the lid and Draco pulled off his shirt. Sirius applied the balm and then taped gauze over it.

"Thanks," said Draco, pulling his shirt back on.

"I think your back should be fine after this," said Sirius, "but if you need an ear, or a voice, let me know."

Draco nodded and Sirius walked off. Draco grabbed his wet things and then walked down the hall to his room. He threw the clothes into a pile and shut the door. He didn't bother pulling down the covers on the bed, but simply lay down. He drifted off within moments, something extraordinary for an insomniac.

_He was standing in the entry room of the Department of Ministries, but the seven doors weren't revolving as they had when he had entered with Voldemort. Instead, they were stopped, and the door to the Veil was open. He could see inside, could see the cloth blowing in the invisible wind. He could also see that the door next to the Veil room was closed, but light was shining from underneath the bottom._

'_So, you took our advice.'_

_Draco whirled around, but he couldn't see anyone there. 'Hello?'_

'_You know where we are; you just don't want to admit it.'_

_Draco turned back to the Veil. 'So I know where you are, but _who_ are you?'_

'_The ones that urged you to follow the members of the light, even though you are not of life yourself.'_

'_So why did you?'_

'_We can gaze at possibilities.'_

'_And you thought we were a good match?' His tone was disbelieving._

'_You are shadow, yes, but shadows cannot exist in the dark.'_

'_And what? You just wanted to give me some friendly advice?'_

'_You will be instrumental in the conflicts to come.'_

'_And you're rooting for the light, I take it.'_

'_Aren't you?'_

'_I was wondering if you were taking the stance of there needs to be a balance.'_

'_When good wins, who really looses?'_

'_Besides, the bad guys you mean.'_

_Amused laughter. 'We do not step into the affairs on your own plane, unless the conflict involves our own.'_

'_The Horcruxes,' said Draco._

'_It is an evil that has the power to destroy your world. You must come back; there is more to discuss.'_

'_Why can't you tell me now?'_

'_The connection is fading.'_

'_What do you mean?'_

'_We can contact you like this because you came into contact with us, but the connection never lasts for long.'_

'_So why didn't you just tell me before?'_

'_We have our reasons.'_

'_That doesn't tell me anything.'_

'_The connection is fading; you must return.'_

'_You still haven't told me who you are.'_

_There was no answer and the room started blurring._

'_Wait!'_

But even as he started forward he jolted up from his bed, panting slightly and trying to orient himself. He ran a hand over his face and sighed.

"Shit," he said, feelingly.

He flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, turning the dream over in his mind before pushing it away and glancing to the clock. It was eleven p.m. He had slept the entire day.

He tried closing his eyes again, wondering if he could fall back to sleep, but he was simply too awake, and his eyes kept blinking open. He groaned and sat up. There were always his projects downstairs to work on.

Draco pulled off his sleep pants and pulled on a pair of khaki trousers. He then put on a clean oxford over his t-shirt but didn't bother to do the buttons up the front. He was only wearing it to hide the scar on his arm. He left his room and headed down the stairs, surprised to find that there was light coming from the dining room as well as the soft murmur of voices.

He walked in to see Dumbledore and Bill talking over cups of tea, both looking up when he entered. Bill grinned.

"I told you he wouldn't sleep all night too," he told Dumbledore. He turned to Draco. "How are you feeling?"

Draco frowned at him. "Do you realize how many times I have been asked that question in the past two weeks? It's ridiculous, unnecessary, and tiresome."

"So is having you answer 'fine' every time I ask," Bill returned, but he was still grinning, so it meant he wasn't at all put off by Draco's snark.

"How is your family?" asked Draco, pulling out a chair and sitting. Dumbledore poured him a cup of tea and he accepted it with a nod.

"They're doing great," said Bill, his grin widening, though Draco didn't know how it was possible. "Of course, you realize that before long the entire Weasley family will owe you a life-debt?"

Draco snorted.

"I'm serious," said Bill. "First me, then Ron, now Fleur and the baby. And you saved Ginny from the ghoul that one time in school."

Draco shrugged and sipped at his tea.

"Draco," said Bill, "has anyone told you that you're incredible?"

"Pansy, on several occasions," said Draco, "as well as several other older female Slytherins and about half of the Ravenclaws girls who graduated last year."

Bill punched him lightly on the shoulder. "I'm being serious," he said. "You are amazing, and thank you, for everything."

Draco rolled his eyes, but he could feel his cheeks grow hot. He took another sip of his tea.

"You still haven't met the newest addition have you?" asked Bill.

"Bill, I pulled it out of your wife. We've met," said Draco dryly.

"But not properly," said Bill. "Come on."

He stood and headed for the door, clearly expecting Draco to follow him. Draco hesitated, but then he realized that Bill was looking…anticipatory? Did he really want that much for Draco to see his child? Did it really mean that much to him?

Draco got up, strangely touched that Bill seemed so eager.

"I don't want to wake anyone up," he said, lingering back.

"Fleur woke up a while ago," said Bill. "Come on."

And then Dumbledore was there, shooing Draco in as well, and Draco stepped into the room. Fleur was awake and sitting up on a transfigured bed, cocooned in pillows and blankets. She was smiling and holding her baby as Mrs. Weasley fawned over the both of them.

"Look who it is," Fleur told her baby in the high-pitched tones everyone uses when speaking to a baby. "Is that daddy? Yes, it is. Yes, it is."

Fleur and Mrs. Weasley both laughed delightedly when the baby sneezed.

"Come on," said Bill, dragging Draco closer to the bundle and the still-red face. "Well?" Bill asked, expectantly.

"Congratulations," said Draco.

Bill laughed, then lightly pushed him over to the chair right by the bed. "Sit here," he said.

Draco sat and looked at the Weasley in askance, but then Bill gently took the bundle from his wife. Draco immediately saw where this was headed.

"Oh no," he said, starting to get up. "Bill, no. Keep it away from me."

Bill just grinned and took a step forward so Draco couldn't leave the couch without brushing by him and Draco wasn't going to do that, not when Bill was carrying the baby.

"No," he said again. "Bill, I'll break it or something."

Bill laughed and stepped forward again and Draco had to sit down to avoid touching the infant and then Bill was holding him out. Draco was a genius, and so when holding the baby became inevitable, he let the child be placed in his arms and held it with a perfect form, if not a little gingerly. Once the baby was settled in the crook of his arm, he looked down at it and stared.

The boy was awake and staring up at him. Draco knew that babies couldn't see far when they were first born, but it looked as if the child was looking straight at him. It had clear blue eyes, eyes that would stay blue even as he grew older, and its hair was nothing more than orange fuzz. One free, tiny arm waved about as the child squirmed and then shut his eyes. Draco reached out with his free hand, intending on tucking the arm back inside the blanket, but then tiny, fragile fingers wrapped around his thumb and Draco froze. For such a small body, it seemed rather strong.

He looked up to see that everyone was watching him, stupid grins on their faces.

"Poor kid has your hair," he told Bill, just to break the mood.

"Yeah," said Bill, "but he's got his mother's eyes."

"I am glad he has your hair," said Fleur.

"Umm…I think it fell asleep," said Draco, trying to remove his finger, but the baby wasn't going to let go and he was afraid of waking it.

"It?" asked Bill. "It's a baby. You can't call him an 'it'."

"And yet you seem to be lacking a name for him," said Draco. "Still haven't decided then?"

Bill hesitated, glancing over at Fleur who nodded.

"Actually," he said, "we wanted to talk to you about that."

"You do realize, that while I am a genius, that does not mean I can come up with the perfect baby name, right?" he asked.

Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley laughed; Bill ran a hand through his hair.

"Well, you saved his life," he said, "and you saved Fleur. I was wondering, _we_ were wondering," he corrected himself, taking Fleur's hand, "if we could name the child after you, not Draco, because I have a feeling you'd hate that-,"

"It's a terrible name," agreed Draco. He had never been teased about it, because no one had the guts too, but it wasn't exactly a common name, even in the wizarding world.

"So, we wondering…what about Lukas?"

Draco blinked, and then stared down at the baby in his arms.

"I mean," Bill said quickly, "you can say 'no'. I understand completely if you didn't want us using that name, but I thought, well- we do owe you, and you can definitely let us know if we're over stepping our bounds, and -,"

"Yes," said Draco, looking up and cutting Bill off. Bill suddenly looked crestfallen, and Draco realized how his answer had sounded.

"I mean, no, you haven't over stepped the bounds," he corrected. "I would be honored if you named him Lukas."

Bill grinned. "Thank you. I've already started thinking of him as a Lukas."

"What's the middle name?" asked Draco.

"Arthur," said Fleur. "Lukas Arthur Weasley."

"You do realize that his initials spell 'law', right?" asked Draco.

Bill shrugged. "So we've already planned out his career and interests, nothing wrong with that." But his eyes were sparkling, which meant he was just teasing.

"Do you, uh," said Draco, nodding at the baby in his arms and looking up at Bill. "I'm not exactly…fond of babies."

"Better get used to it," said Bill, making no move to take his son. "We're making you godfather."

"Don't I get a choice?" asked Draco.

"'Course not," said Bill, and then he paused. "If you really didn't want," he started.

"No, I do," said Draco quickly, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he was going to be godfather to the baby in his arms, and that Bill was naming him Lukas. He was overwhelmed and pleased all at once. "I'm just not babysitting," he told Bill, completely serious about that, at least, not until the kid was fifteen and could take care of himself. Who knew how badly he would mess the kid up?

"What about changing diapers?" asked Bill.

"Not ever," said Draco.

"Fair enough," said Bill.

"Could you take him now?" asked Draco, freeing his finger from the baby's grasp. "Before I drop him, or something?"

Bill laughed and then took his son from Draco. Already he was an expert at handling the baby, with a hand supporting the infant's neck and moving so gently Lukas didn't even stir. Fleur smiled at them both, but she looked tired, so Draco stood, giving Bill a half-smile in parting.

Mrs. Weasley was talking with the Headmaster at the door, but Dumbledore bid her good-night, and Draco moved to step out as well. Before he could, Mrs. Weasley reached out and gently took his hand, stopping him from leaving.

"You are a miracle," she told him sincerely. She kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you."

Draco left the room, a bit startled, and the Headmaster gave him a smile.

"Don't stay up too late, my boy," he said, and then threw some Floo in the fireplace and stepped through.

Draco ran a hand through his hair. He wasn't tired and there was no way he was going to be able to sleep, not after he had just slept the entire afternoon and evening away, so he went to his study and picked up the dagger.

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Bill was up early because Lukas was. His son was hungry and he wanted everyone to know it. Bill passed his son to Fleur and after Lukas' early breakfast, both of them fell asleep once more.

Bill watched them for a few moments, both sleeping soundly on the large bed Dumbledore had transfigured for them. Fleur said it was the most comfortable mattress she had ever slept on, and Bill believed her. She never slept this deeply, but then again, she had never recovering from a c-section before either.

He slipped out of the room to find some breakfast for himself, and was surprised to see that his mother, Kingsley, Sirius, and Charlie were all up. The soundproofing charm Pomfrey had put around the living room to give Fleur some peace and quiet must really work.

"Ah, there's the new father," Kingsley greeted him, toasting to him with a mug of coffee.

"Doesn't look like a new father to me," said Sirius. "Isn't he supposed to be dead tired with graying hair?"

"It's just the first night," Kingsley rejoined. "Give him some time."

Charlie laughed along with them but then turned to his older brother.

"So, what's the name?" he asked. "Or did you just refuse to tell us what you had decided on a month ago because you had no idea?"

"We had no idea," Bill admitted. "But his name is Lukas Arthur."

"Lukas," said Kingsley. "That was Draco's half-brother, Laney's father, right?"

Bill nodded.

"It's a good name," said Kingsley and Sirius agreed.

"But you do realize that your kid's initials spell law, right?" he asked.

"Pushing him in any particular direction, Bill?" asked Kingsley.

Bill grinned. "Just a little bit." He noted that Kingsley wasn't wearing his Auror robes. "Day off Kingsley?"

"Until further notice," said Kingsley. "They're still trying to ascertain all of the damage at the Ministry and there are some Aurors at the secondary office, but the rest of us are off."

"Not just the Ministry was hit though," said Sirius. "St. Mungo's is in pretty bad shape as well." He passed the paper over and Bill looked at the front picture of the hospital. He whistled.

"Point to the Death Eaters on this one," said Kingsley. "Dumbledore is going over to the Ministry later today to help piece together the content of the storm. Do you think Draco will be up to traveling today?"

"I wouldn't even be able to begin to keep him here," said Bill. "And it's not as if he's already working too hard."

"Well, he is a Malfoy," said Sirius. "You didn't think he would be easy to get along with, did you?"

"Point," Bill allowed.

His mother came into the room with a fresh pot of tea.

"How's Fleur?" she asked.

"Sleeping," said Bill.

"Hey, Molly, do you need any help?" asked Sirius.

"We're all here with nothing to do," Kingsley chimed in.

Molly looked at them. "Do I want two bachelors in the kitchen with me trying to make breakfast? I'm going to say no." She laughed and then traveled back into the kitchen.

"I think she just insinuated that we were bad cooks, Kingsley," said Sirius.

"Everyone knows I can't cook," said the Auror, shrugging his large shoulders. "It doesn't need to be insinuated."

Breakfast only took a few more minutes, and the teens of the house surprised everyone by actually coming down without having to be woken up. Bill figured that they had been motivated by the prospect of seeing Lukas, because Pomfrey hadn't allowed any visitors yesterday, due to the risk of infection. He was proved correct when Fred and George turned to him expectantly.

"When can we see our nephew?" asked Fred.

"After breakfast," said Bill.

"Have you come up with a name yet?" asked Fred.

"It is Gred, right?" asked George, looking rather expectant.

Ron made a face. "If you did, I will claim no relation."

Hermione smacked him on the arm but Harry laughed.

"Lukas," said Bill. "Lukas Arthur Weasley."

"Lukas as in Draco's half-brother?" asked Ron.

Bill nodded.

"I like it," said Hermione, and the other Weasleys nodded as well. Ginny smiled but then scrunched up her nose.

"Are you trying to push him to become a lawyer?"

Bill sighed. "Yes, his initials spell 'law'. We're aware."

The table laughed at him and then Molly came in with a plate of toast.

"Where's Draco?" she asked.

"Wasn't in his room," said Harry.

"I know where he is," said Bill. He got up and walked down the hall to the back room. He pushed the door open and found the boy hunched over a notebook. It was immediately apparent that Draco hadn't gone to bed after waking up yesterday night. He was still in the same t-shirt and trousers, although the button-up shirt he was wearing before was slung over the back of the chair.

"Draco," said Bill, when Draco failed to look up from the notebook. He was writing swiftly as he glanced between two open books and then a bottle with a small amount of clear liquid in it. The liquid was bubbling slightly.

"Hmm?" asked Draco, not paying attention to him at all.

"Breakfast is ready. Did you even get any sleep last night?"

"I wasn't tired," said Draco, now picking up the bottle with his free hand and raising it to the light. He frowned and made a note in the pages.

Bill was about to start a lecture when he noticed something on Draco's bare arm. He stepped further into the room, reaching out and halting Draco's writing with a hand on the boy's shoulder. Draco glanced over, brows knit, but Bill was already pulling Draco's arm up so he could look at the scar.

He knew when Draco finally realized his intentions because he could feel Draco stiffen and try to pull away, but he didn't let go.

Draco's arm was still sporting a few bruises where his blood vessels hadn't completely healed, and the marks were dark against the pale skin. The scar itself was a still-red welt, running jaggedly for several inches. It was strikingly serpentine, and then Bill turned Draco's arm over to see the identical wound on the other side.

He looked up at Draco, but the grey eyes were downcast, studiously examining the table.

"Does it hurt still?" he asked.

"It's fine."

"You know, the trouble with saying that all the time is that I no longer believe you."

The grey eyes slid up to meet his gaze. "Only when I strain my arm or put too much pressure on it."

"I had no idea it was this bad," said Bill. "I didn't think it was this long, because the blade…," he trailed off, realizing the truth. The blade wasn't that wide; Voldemort had speared Draco's arm and then pulled his hand, causing the long gash.

"Yeah," said Draco softly.

It was that soft tone that had Bill pause. The scar was a sore point with Draco, but there was more too it than that, something else was disturbing him. He knew that Draco wouldn't reveal anything further, so he would have to dig deeper.

"It looks like a snake," he said, trying to start a conversation, but Draco visibly flinched at the word 'snake'.

Bill paused, knowing that he had just hit the reason for Draco's discomfort, but not knowing why. Why would a snake-?

"Ah," he said, answering his own question.

He let Draco pull his arm away, and then the white-blond deliberately picked up his quill again.

"It's entirely different from a Dark Mark," said Bill.

Draco didn't look over.

"Draco, the Death Eaters sign up for their jobs; they _want_ the mark. This is Voldemort's sick way of punishing you for not taking it."

"It's in the same place as a Dark Mark," said Draco. "I'll still be wearing long sleeves for the rest of my life with the rest of the Death Eaters."

"Why?"

Draco looked at him with an incredulous expression.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," said Bill.

"I'd rather not spend the rest of my life having people stare at my arm," said Draco.

"Harry seems to cope with the stares."

"He's the sodding Boy-Who-Lived."

"And you're the son of Lucius Malfoy who denounced Voldemort to his face. There are going to be stares even without the scar."

"It's ugly," said Draco.

Bill frowned. Since when was Draco concerned with looks? His confusion must have shown because Draco sighed.

"I know that people think I'm attractive in a…fey sort of way, but I've never drawn attention to my looks on a day to day basis. Sometimes I do, when I need to get noticed or I need to make a point, but it's not as if I don't care how I look. I like being clean and neat and dressed well. This," he said, gesturing at his arm, "is crude and ugly."

Bill was silent, turning Draco's words over in his head. It was true. He had never seen Draco dress to draw attention, purposely looking handsome. On the occasion he was wearing finer robes, it was only to annunciate the quality of the robes, and how expensive they had been, but still, he had always dressed well. His sense of style was so developed, and he wore high fashion so casually, it was almost as if he was accidentally dressed so well.

"Well, it is winter now," said Bill, "so you will be wearing long sleeves when you go out, and when you are at fancy dinner parties and whatever it is you rich people do, you will be wearing a jacket so people won't be able to see. I think the rest of it is just trying to accustom yourself to the scar. Once you accept it, people will see that, and they won't keep making such a big fuss about it."

"And how do I get used to it?" asked Draco.

Bill crossed over to the discarded oxford and picked it up. "Don't wear this to breakfast."

Draco raised an eyebrow, but then gave a short nod. Bill pulled out his wand and banished the shirt to Draco's room. Draco turned back to his book.

"Breakfast is now," said Bill.

"I'm in the middle of this," said Draco.

"Two minutes," said Bill. "Then come in, alright?"

"Yeah," said Draco.

Bill walked back to the dining room where his mother had finished bringing out the food.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"He'll be in," said Bill sitting down. He poured himself a mug of coffee and then passed platters around the table, filling his own plate with grilled tomatoes, eggs, and toast. Four minutes later he sighed and pushed back his chair.

Draco was still in the study, still looking at whatever liquid was in the bottle and consulting the book.

"Draco, breakfast," he said.

"Yeah," said Draco, making no move to put down the book.

"Now," said Bill.

"Two minutes," said Draco.

"I gave you two minutes four minutes ago."

"I know, but this is rather important."

"One minute," said Bill.

Draco nodded.

"And I mean one, Draco. One."

"Yes," said Draco.

Bill rolled his eyes and went back to his breakfast. Three minutes later he sighed and started to get up while the rest of the table snickered at him.

"Do you want me to get him?" asked Ginny.

Bill paused. "Think you'll have better luck?"

She smiled. "I just might."

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I know, I don't deserve reviews for making you all wait and causing half of you to assume that something terrible (like a freak meteor landing on my house) happened. But, just because I don't deserve it, doesn't mean you won't give me one, right? Right? (inserting puppy dog eyes and a trembling lower lip).

Anyway (cough), yes, I will be updating Tuesday, this Tuesday. As long as a freak meteor doesn't land on my house. Cheers!


	5. Breakfast and Boy Talk

Disclaimer: Nope!

Author's note: So, here it is, and I'm just an hour late. I had a bit of trouble writing this chapter, and I didn't find my must until two hours ago, so apologies if there is a greater abundance of typos, I only looked over it once before posting. And, I won't be able to reply to reviews this time, because I have to get this up to make the deadline, but thank you.

Another note, I may be late posting next week because I'll be moving back to college, but if so, I'll try my hardest to put it up the following day.

One more, a reviewer asked if the other stories were necessary to understand this one, and yeah, there are some definite occurrences that need to be read. However, if you like this story, the other ones should be good reading as well. If that looks a little daunting, drop me your email and I can leave a synopsis, but I hope you check the story out.

That being said, THANK YOU to all my reviewers and I'm so sorry I won't be replying, but this is late, and college packing is calling. Thanks again, and enjoy!

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Draco gently swirled the clear liquid in the glass. It didn't make sense.

He had taken a very small shaving from the knife blade, ground it into a fine powder, and then sprinkled it in a small amount of water and a weak truth serum. If there were dark curses on the blade, the water would have turned red. He kept waiting for the water to change, because there was no way the knife could turn invisible without the use of dark magic. All of the signs were there: it had only produced the invisibility after being covered in Draco's blood, it was protected by an insanely strong amount of wards, and its décor was primarily serpentine. If this wasn't a knife belonging to a dark wizard, than Salazaar was a Gryffindor.

Still, that didn't negate the fact that the water _was not_ turning red, which mean the wards and spells on the blade were not dark ones.

He frowned, and flipped through the book again. Maybe he was just missing something.

Sometimes he got absorbed in his work. When this happened, he could know when someone entered the room, and he could answer questions and hold a stilted conversation, but usually only with the people he felt comfortable around. Sometimes he really got absorbed in his work, and wasn't even aware of what was happening around him. That was why he jumped when the book he was reading was slammed shut.

He jerked up to see Ginny Weasley smiling at him.

"Interesting read?" she asked.

Draco frowned. "I was in a particularly engaging section, yes."

"Then you won't mind coming back to it after breakfast."

"I'm in the middle of an analysis," said Draco, reaching for the book, intending on flipping it open again, but Ginny snatched the book and pulled it away.

"It's time for breakfast," she said.

"I'm aware of that," said Draco.

"Then why aren't you eating?"

"Because I'm rather busy at the moment."

"Not anymore you're not," said Ginny. "Come on. The book will still be here when you come back."

"Weasley, just give me the book," said Draco.

"Say my name," said Ginny.

"Ginevra, give me the book."

Ginny scowled at the use of her full name; Draco smirked and held out his hand, his right hand. He was trying to use his left, with the scar clearly visible, as little as possible.

"Umm, no," said Ginny.

Draco started forward and she skipped backwards.

"Weasley," Draco started, but she raised her eyebrows. "Ginny," he amended.

"Yes, Draco?" she asked, giving him a sickeningly innocent smile.

"Can I have my book back?"

"Are you going to come to breakfast?"

"Fine. Yes."

"Good, then you can have it." And she promptly left the room, taking the book with her.

"Weasley!" Draco snapped, following her.

"This is just insurance," she called back.

Draco sighed, but entered the dining room. Ginny had retaken her seat, his book still in her lap and Draco pointedly ignored her. He pulled out the chair next to Harry, ignoring Bill as well. He had, no doubt, sent his little sister to pull him away from his study when was in the middle of an experiment. He disregarded the fact that the knife really could wait, and that he had already told Bill he would be in for breakfast. Twice.

"Go ahead and sulk all you want Draco," said Bill.

"I'm not sulking," said Draco, accepting the bowl of eggs from Harry and spooning some on his plate.

"I don't know, George," said Fred. "I think he's sulking."

"He looks like he's sulking," George agreed.

"Why do you suppose ickle Malfoy is upset?"

"Did the little ferret not sleep well?"

Draco turned his glare on them and then reached out to take the plate of toast Bill was handing his way. The eldest Weasley was not at all put off by his irritability; sometimes Bill was so nice it was a little aggravating.

"Shit, Draco, what happened to your arm?" asked Harry suddenly, catching sight of the scar.

Draco took a piece of toast and then passed the platter along as if he wasn't off put by the question. He gave a slight shrug.

"A knife," he said, and then took the serving bowl of grilled tomatoes Bill held out. He scooped a few onto his plate and tried to pass it on to Harry, but the Boy-Who-Lived was staring at the scar.

"What about a knife?" asked Hermione, taking the tomatoes as her boyfriend wasn't paying attention to Draco's attempts to pass them on. She saw the mark on Draco's arm. "A knife did that?" she asked in disbelief.

Her voice carried; so did the word 'knife'. Heads turned in her direction, following her gaze to Draco's arm.

"What happened?" Hermione continued.

Draco glanced to Bill, sending him a dark look, but then turning back to Hermione.

"The Dark Lord ran a knife through my arm," he said. "Would you pass the coffee?"

A moment of silence. Ron gave Draco a sympathetic grimace; Kingsley cleared his throat. Harry broke out of his shock and passed the coffee for Hermione.

"Here you are," he told Draco.

Draco gave him a short 'Thanks' and then Harry started a conversation with Ron, rather deliberately. He obviously understood what it was like to be gawked at, but curiosity was apparently a Gryffindor characteristic.

"Whoa, wait just a minute," said Fred.

"Hold up there," said George. "Malfoy here got his arm skewered-,"

"And no one is in the least bit curious?" Fred finished.

"Boys," Mr. Weasley started, but Fred and George spoke over him.

"When did Voldemort stab you?"

"And why didn't you tell us?"

"Yeah, mate, because that's pretty wicked."

"It's not a Potter, but definitely up there."

"Oi," said Ron, getting their attention. He flushed slightly when they looked his way. "It wasn't exactly cool, just so you know."

"How would you-?" Fred and George started, but Hermione figured it out.

"You were there?" she asked.

"Well, we were kidnapped together," said Ron, shifting a bit in his chair and glancing to Draco. Draco was startled that Ron was defending him, but he appreciated it.

"What happened?" asked Hermione.

Draco really didn't want to answer that, but judging by the 'we're trying not to look too interested, but we want to know exactly what happened because we are sickly curious' looks he was receiving from most of the table, it would be quicker just to get it over with now. And, as much as he hated to admit it, Bill was right. If he acted as if he was okay with it, as if it didn't bother him that much, they would adopt the same attitude.

He held up his arm. "Apparently the Dark Lord was a little angry I wouldn't take his mark, so he gave me one anyway."

"And that's on both sides?"

"The knife went through my arm, yes," Draco confirmed, showing her, and consequently the rest of the table, that the mark was identical on the other side.

"That's sick," said Hermione.

Draco shrugged and then poured himself a mug of coffee. There was another moment of awkward silence and then Kingsley spoke up.

"If you're not too busy later this morning, Draco, I'm meeting Dumbledore at the Ministry at eleven to help analyze the damage, if you still want to come, that is."

"Of course," said Draco quickly. Like he would pass up that opportunity?

"Have anymore thoughts on the storm?"

He did, quite a collection in fact, but no one else at the table was speaking, they were all listening in, and Draco found the attention to be disconcerting.

"A few," he said, avoiding the gazes and looking down at his plate. Suddenly it was like dining in the Malfoy home, where the tension was stifling and the food seemed heavier, weighted, sticking to his throat as he swallowed. He gulped at his coffee.

"Charlie, Ron," said Bill. "Later today I'm heading home to bring the nursery set-up back here, could I have some help sending things through the Floo?"

And just like that, the attention shifted and Draco turned to Bill as well, thankful and surprised. Bill and Fleur would be staying at the Headquarters? His question was echoed by half the Weasleys.

"You're moving in?"

"Can't get enough of us?"

"When did you decide this?"

"How long are you staying?"

Bill took a sip of his own coffee before answering.

"Well, Christmas is coming up in a few weeks, so instead of going back home at the end of the week, only to return for another week during the holiday, Fleur and I figured it would just be easier to stay here. Besides, this way there will be plenty of willing babysitters for Lukas so Fleur and I can get some sleep when we need it."

He didn't say anything about staying to look out for Draco, but Bill looked over in his direction, and Draco could read it in his eyes. He gave a nod of thanks; he didn't think he could cope with a houseful of Weasleys by himself.

"Well, we'd love to stay and chat," said George.

"And we really mean that," said Fred.

"But Forge and I have to head out to the shop."

"Ah, the joys of bratty children at holiday time. I'd feel bad for the parents-,"

"But it just means more profit for us."

"Besides," said Fred, "it's the parents' fault their children are prats anyway."

"Bill," said George, "when we get back, we wish to see our nephew."

The both grinned and levitated their plates into the kitchen before Apparating away.

"Well, I don't have work," said Ron. "Can I see him now?"

"In a few minutes," said Bill. "I want to finish my breakfast and make sure Fleur's alright with visitors."

Charlie stood as well, having finished, and while most of the occupants of the Order Headquarters were still eating, Draco thought he could probably make an exit. He skidded back his chair, but he was arrested by a sharp voice.

"Just what do you think you are doing, young man?"

Draco froze and turned to see Mrs. Weasley looking quite disapproving. He blinked.

"I was going back to my study?" he said, but the statement came out sounding more like a question, something which irked him.

"Not until you finish your breakfast. You haven't eaten enough to keep a bird alive."

"I should hope not," said Draco, making no move to pick up his fork. "Birds eat their body weight daily."

The look on Mrs. Weasley's face changed from disapproving into a stern frown. She wasn't the least bit menacing, at least that's what Draco tried telling himself, but he found himself scooting his chair back towards the table and his hand reached for his fork. He chewed a piece of egg and then swallowed it with a sip of coffee, trying his best not to choke. He was never able to eat when ordered and he looked to Bill, hoping the new father could get him off.

Bill read the desperation in his eyes, but instead of excusing him, he turned to Kingsley.

"Any word on the damage count at the Ministry yet?"

"Well, the buildings are still standing," the Auror began, "but that's just because it is underground. Most of the damage came from the inside with instruments exploding from the magical interference."

"But how much damage could that really cause?" asked Hermione.

Bill jerked his head at Draco's plate and Draco sighed but began to eat as Shacklebolt elaborated. He knew that Bill was just helping distract him, but it really did help.

"Quite a bit, actually. All of the elevators are demolished because the pulley charms on them snapped and they dropped to the lobby floor and smashed through a good deal of the walls there. The windows with the enchanted scenery burst, sending shrapnel into the walls. The lights exploded as well and it will take a while to get the magicians in to set that up again."

"Wait," said Harry, looking up at that. "Magicians?"

"Not the card trick kind," Hermione explained. "Magicians in the wizarding world are like electricians. They install the torches that light up when someone walks past, or in the Ministry's case, the glowing crystal balls, or the overhead lamps."

"Oh," said Harry.

"And all of the magically-vertical cubical walls were thrown half-way across the room, taking out most of the desks," Kingsley continued.

"I knew the Ministry would regret not spending the extra money to set them up manually," said Mr. Weasley, shaking his head.

"And once you get past the structural damage, there are the little pieces that will make it a pain to clean. All of the notepads for the airplane memos were excited, and the place is swimming in paper airplanes, at least that's when my contact says. Also the re-filling inkpots blew up, sending ink every where and some of that is indelible. And, on top of that, the fountain statue is wrecked again."

Ron, Harry, and Hermione laughed at that. Draco remembered their fight in the Ministry at the end of fifth year that led to the destruction of the fountain, which really was a blatant piece of wizard superiority propaganda. He drank the rest of his coffee and stood. His plate was empty, except for a half piece of cold toast, and he was feeling full. This time no one stopped him as he cleared his plate and then walked upstairs, deciding on a shower before going back to his study.

He grabbed a set of clothes out of his trunk before walking to the bathroom, and decided that he really did need to unpack. Anti-wrinkle charms were simple, but rather lengthy.

He took the two minutes that unpacking required after his shower and that simple act relaxed him just as much as the hot water. It was more than a temporary hotel room now, but he wasn't quite ready to call it anything more just yet. He headed down into his back room and pulled up short.

Ginny Weasley was in his study, bending over the table and poking at his knife.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She looked up and didn't even have the decency to look abashed. She held up his book.

"Returning this," she said. "You have a lot of stuff here." She crossed over to the walls and looked over the runes.

Draco glared, but stepped into the room, checking over the table to make sure she hadn't messed anything up.

"Don't you have anything else to do?" he asked pointedly.

"Yeah, I suppose," she said, giving the runes a last look and then turning to him with a smile. "So Bill made you godfather, huh?"

"Yeah," he said, the topic change throwing him slightly.

"I think that's cool," she said. "And you were as well, yesterday, with the whole… birthing thing."

She was obviously getting somewhere with this and Draco merely waited, watching her closely as her cheeks flushed.

"I want to apologize for snapping at you during the storm," she said. "I get a little freaked out, as you noticed."

He shrugged a shoulder. "Everyone has a Boggart," he said.

She shrugged as well, scuffing her foot on the floor and studying the objects on the table again.

"Is a childhood thing?" he asked, just to break the silence. He had been planning on telling her to get out, but he was curious.

"Not really," she said. "Just bad memories."

She walked closer to the table and Draco frowned. She had told him enough to answer his question, but not enough to reveal anything more. It was apparent by her tone of voice that the conversation had ended, and asking another question would be blatantly obtrusive, not to mention it would also show he was intrigued. It was a Slytherin answer; his curiosity doubled.

She picked up the knife again, and then looked over to Draco, her eyebrows raised.

"This isn't the knife that was stuck through your arm, was it?"

"It is," said Draco.

"That's a little…atypical, isn't it? Keeping the knife that Voldemort marked you with?"

"It helped me get out."

"And what's this?" she asked, now picking up the glass of water and peering through it.

"I'm testing for dark curses on the knife," said Draco, wondering if she knew how obnoxious she was being.

"And this means yes?"

"It means no," said Draco shortly.

"You sound upset. Did you want dark curses on the knife?"

"I'm not upset, and no, I don't want dark curses on the knife, I just know there are and I have not yet ascertained the reason to why the test isn't showing that."

"Or maybe there just aren't any dark curses on the knife."

"There has to be."

"Why does there have to be dark curses on the knife?"

Draco sighed. "Look, Weasley-,"

"Ginny," she corrected him.

"Ginny," he amended. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I would actually like to get back to working."

"You mean I'm bothering you."

"Yes," he said.

She considered that for a moment and then smiled. "Alright, I'll get out of your hair on one condition."

"I shouldn't have to agree to a condition to get you to leave," said Draco.

She shrugged. "I don't see why it's such a big deal to explain a knife to me."

"Fine, what is it?"

"No more calling me Weasley. It's Ginny, and no cute plays on the name either, like Gin-gin, Ginna, or Gineve, and it is most definitely not Ginevra, got it?"

"Yes," said Draco. "Ginny."

"Good," she said. She gave him a parting smile and left. Draco rolled his eyes and picked up the book she left on the table.

By eleven, he was still no further in determining why the dark curses on the knife were avoiding the water test, so he started to prepare a more thorough investigation. He put it on hold when Kingsley knocked on the door and followed the Auror into the living room.

"We're Flooing straight in, but there's only one operational fireplace, so there may be a bit of a wait. You aren't claustrophobic, are you?"

Draco shook his head and took the pinch of Floo. He followed the black Auror through the fireplace and sure enough, instead of appearing directly on the other side, he could feel the cramped, warm brick. From the heat he could determine that he was about half-way up the 'chimney', but he was descending at a steady clip which meant people were stepping out of the way in a timely fashion.

He stepped out into the atrium of the Ministry of Magic and instantly began surveying the damage. The entrances for the elevators were all blown out, but most of that debris was being swept up by construction teams. The fountain was roped off, and from the breaches in the wall, and by the slight water damage on the floor, it appeared that the lobby had been flooded as well. A few craters had been blown into the walls where magical torches used to stand and the fireplaces were in the process of being reconnected.

"Draco, over here."

Draco turned and caught sight of Dumbledore and Kingsley standing a bit away from the Floo and he walked over to join them, still cataloguing the damages. A few of the magical portraits seemed to be melted onto the walls.

Dumbledore twinkled down on him. "Getting any ideas on the storm?"

"A few," said Draco. "I'm going to have to see the other rooms though and compare the damage."

"We can do that," said Dumbledore. "Minister Fudge has called me in to assist in any way possible and I have clearance into the entire ministry, though I'm afraid we'll have to take the stairs. This way."

Draco nodded and followed the Headmaster.

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Ginny scrunched her face up in the mirror. Sometimes she detested her freckles. They were so childish, so 'country bumpkin' like, but there was no way she would ever stoop to concealing them. First of all, finding a good concealer was always a pain. Her skin wasn't white, but she did have a red-head's complexion and so the tinted cover-up never matched well enough. She could use an invisible potion to vanish her freckles, but that either dried her skin out, or made her break out.

Secondly, the ones that worked were rather expensive and while she could afford them, that would mean skimping on her wardrobe and she was sick of buying the cheapest outfits available.

Thirdly, if she did start using a cover-up to hide her freckles, everyone would know. The Weasleys' were all red-haired and freckled, just like all Malfoy's were pale and blond. If she showed up to school with smooth skin, people would wonder why she was trying so hard, and who she was trying to impress.

Fourthly, there were days when she just rolled out of bed and ran to class just managing to throw on her uniform. She wouldn't want to have freckles one day, and be clear the next.It would be something she would have to keep up with, and frankly, she couldn't be that high maintenance all the time.

She sighed and comforted herself by brushing out her hair which was one hundred percent naturally red. Being a Weasley meant that she didn't have to hear questions about the authenticity of her color and if 'the curtains matched the covers', which was more than just a relief. And as far as Ginny was concerned, she had the best hair of the Weasley children, well, Bill's hair was nice, and when he didn't dry it with a charm, he could get perfect curls. The ends of Ginny's hair curled, giving her hair amazing movement and body, but if she wanted curls, she would have to use a serum and scrunch her hair.

She set the brush down and then ran her hand through her hair, studying her reflection once more. Freckles were just so…so unrefined and inelegant. She made a face at herself and left the bathroom, walking down the hall to Hermione's room and taking her place back on the bed.

"Took you long enough," said Hermione. "What about this one?" Hermione turned the magazine to Ginny.

Ginny looked at the featured witch. "I like her shirt," she said.

"But the haircut?"

Ginny looked up. "Mione, your hair is so thick, that if you did want to chop it above your shoulders, you would have an afro."

Hermione sighed. "I know, I'm just so sick of…of this." She tugged helplessly at a strand of curl. While Hermione had learned to control the frizz of her hair, there just wasn't anyway around the fact that she had very thick, very curly hair that was nearly unmanageable.

"It never bothered you before," said Ginny. "Why now?"

"I don't know," said Hermione, flopping back onto her pillows. "I guess I've just hit the point where I need a change, desperately."

Ginny wasn't exactly buying her story. While she understood where Hermione was coming from – in her third year she had begun to grow her hair out from an above shoulder length which left it without a style and limp – Hermione was more than just looking at different hairstyles. She was looking at attractive, sexy witches with gold-blonde hair falling in soft waves down their back or cut in face-framing layers. The witches in the pictures were simpering and primping, tossing their heads every now and then, shaking their hair only to have it fall back in perfect place.

"You aren't planning on dying your hair, are you?" asked Ginny casually.

"What? Oh, no," said Hermione. Brief pause. "Do you think I should?"

Ginny shut the magazine and tossed it to the floor where it joined the others. "Hermione, is there something you want to tell me?"

Hermione sighed, but then sat up, facing Ginny and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You think that Harry is good-looking, right?" she asked.

"Yes," said Ginny, wondering where this was going.

"How good-looking would you say?"

Ginny hesitated for a second. This was Harry she was talking about. The boy who she had a crush on for the first five years of school, but then realized the truth, that somehow he wasn't enough, and now he was dating her best girl friend, and was best friends with her brother. While she was perfectly fine admitting that she thought Harry was extremely attractive, she wanted to do it in a way that wouldn't make Hermione think she still liked him.

"It's alright," said Hermione, correctly reading her pause. "I know you don't like him like that anymore."

Ginny laughed. "Oh good, because I couldn't really think of a way to say that 'your boyfriend is bloody hot' in a purely plutonic sense. Harry is very good-looking, and he has a great body. He could do with losing the glasses, but it's pretty easy to look past them. On a scale of one to ten, I'd give him an eight point five."

"Really?" asked Hermione, looking somewhat disappointed at that.

"Not high enough?" asked Ginny.

"No," said Hermione, "well, I'd give him a nine, but…but where am I on the scale?"

Ginny's eyebrows shot up on their own accord. "You don't think you're hot enough for him?" she asked.

"No," said Hermione quickly. "I mean, well, I know that there is more to life than looks and that people deserve to be rated by their personality and heart but…,"

"But," Ginny prodded.

"Lavender said something to Pavarti about how she was surprised that Harry was dating me because he could have any girl in school."

"Well then Lavender's a bitch," said Ginny, "just like those witches in that fashion magazine. Hermione, Harry is with you because…because you're just perfect together. You two, and I'm going to sound totally cliché and cheesy here, complete each other. He's the sporty one, and you like books. He can be laid-back, and you take charge. He could use a little help in the study arena on occasion, and you don't need help at all. It's like a movie romance."

"But if we have nothing in common, how long are we going to last?"

"You're a lot a like in the important areas," said Ginny quickly, trying to comfort her best friend. "You both grew up in Muggle homes, so you both love magic that much more. You are two of the kindest people I have ever met, and I really mean that. You both have these amazing ideals about how the world should work, and instead of giving up when you see it isn't so, you try to change it. You have so much in common."

"You think so?" asked Hermione.

"Definitely," said Ginny. "Besides, one other thing you have in common, is that you both love each other, and when you look at him, and when he looks at you, both of you smile like you can't help it. So sod Lavender Brown; she's a skank anyway."

"Ginny!" said Hermione in shock.

Ginny shrugged. "Well, she is. She'll bang anything with a broomstick."

Hermione stifled a laugh. "Does your mother know you talk like that?"

"No," said Ginny. "Let's keep it that way too. Merlin knows what my brothers would do."

"They would want to know exactly where you learned such language and then proceed to beat said source to the ground."

"Most likely," Ginny agreed.

Hermione lay back down on the pillows. "Alright, so I'm forgetting whatever Lavender Brown said, but I am rather tired of this mass of curls on my head. What should I do?"

"Have you ever tried a straightening serum?" asked Ginny.

"I've tried a few straightening charms."

"Those never work well, in fact, all beauty charms never last long. You actually have to buy a product, but I do have some."

"You straighten your hair?" asked Hermione.

"Only when it's humid because my hair can get as frizzy as yours in second year."

"Ouch," said Hermione.

Ginny laughed. "Come on. We'll give you a make over."

She dragged the older girl to the bathroom and then shut the door.

"Stick your head under the bath faucet. With your hair, I think it's going to need to be soaking wet for this to work."

Hermione obligingly wet her hair as Ginny pulled out the straightening serum from Ravenlocks Hair Boutique and a bottle of conditioning, anti-frizz lotion.

"Merlin, your hair is long," said Ginny when Hermione's hair was drenched. "Without the curl you've got another five inches at least."

"What should I do?" asked Hermione.

"You just sit and let me play hairdresser," said Ginny. "I'm sister deprived."

"You and me both," said Hermione. "Let me tell you, only child isn't all that fun."

Ginny began combing through Hermione's hair with a wide-tooth comb.

"You know what?" Ginny asked.

"What?" asked Hermione.

"I think I would give you an eight on the hot scale," said Ginny. "I mean that in a total sisterly way."

"Really?" asked Hermione.

"Oh yeah, easily," said Ginny. "You've got amazing skin and it's on the tan side."

"I don't help it any," said Hermione. "I don't go outside unless I have to."

"You should," said Ginny. "Whenever I go out, my freckles multiply."

"You don't like your freckles?" asked Hermione.

Ginny made a face and then picked up the bottle of serum and squirted a good amount into her hand. She added some of the conditioning cream and rubbed her hands together.

"Most definitely not," she said, working the hair care products through Hermione's thick locks.

"I think they're cute."

"I'm sick of cute though," said Ginny. "I would like to look older, a bit sophisticated."

"Sophisticated, huh?" asked Hermione. "Who do you want to look sophisticated for?"

Her tone was teasing, but Ginny still flushed. Hermione, like any girl, could smell a love interest even in the middle of a Quidditch match.

"Who?" she asked. "Who is it?"

"It's no one," said Ginny, but she was still blushing furiously.

"It is not no one. Come on, Ginny, tell me. I told you when I liked Harry."

"Only because you were afraid I still liked him and would be broken-hearted if you started dating."

"But I still told you," said Hermione. "Come on, I won't tell, promise."

"I don't know," said Ginny. "It's kinda…well, there is no hope, and I don't even know if I like him. It could just be an infatuation." She cast a gradual drying charm on Hermione's hair.

"Oh, please," said Hermione. "If you tell me, I could tell you if there was hope."

"It's embarrassing," said Ginny.

"Do you think telling you about Harry was easy?"

Ginny sighed. "Fine, but you can't tell anyone, swear?"

"Swear," said Hermione.

Ginny leaned back on the wall, but she couldn't look Hermione in the eyes. "It's Draco," she said quickly, preparing for the discouragements to follow. Instead, Hermione was silent. Ginny looked up to see the older girl studying her thoughtfully.

"What?" she asked.

"Well, I can see why," said Hermione. "He is gorgeous. A definite ten."

"Nine," said Ginny, shaking her head. "Maybe a nine point five. He's a little too pale and a little skinny and angular."

"Picky," said Hermione.

Ginny shrugged.

"But still," said Hermione, "on the occasions he has talked to you, he hasn't walked all over you. You can stand your ground around him, which is a plus."

"But he is still the Slytherin Ice Prince and sex god," said Ginny. "Not the kind of guy I usually go for."

"The guys you have gone for have been, well, you seem to get bored with them," said Hermione. "How many dates have you been on this past year?"

"I can't help it," said Ginny. "They're just so safe and…flat. There's no excitement."

"Well it explains why you're crushing on Draco Malfoy. You can't get more dangerous than him."

"I don't think he even notices me though."

"Maybe you just have to make him."

"How? It's not like I can actually flirt with him, not with my parents around, and I have been attempting to interact with him. He's just…,"

"First of all, is it even possible to flirt with Draco? Secondly, you are living in the same house as him. I'm thinking that calls for some tank tops? Coming into breakfast with your hair still wet from the shower? He's a teenage boy and you are the only single, attractive girl in this whole house. It shouldn't be too hard."

Ginny considered that. "Alright," she said. "But you have to help."

"I love playing matchmaker," said Hermione.

"But no telling anyone," said Ginny.

"My lips are sealed."

"Good. I think your hair is dry too. Look in the mirror and tell me what you think."

Hermione stepped in front of the mirror, staring at the sight of her face framed by perfectly smooth, straight hair. Granted, her hair was fuller than the current fashion of straight hair demanded, but the body looked better on her. She squealed and then threw her arms around Ginny.

"I love it!" she cried.

"An eight point five with that hair," said Ginny, fixing a few of the strands. "Let's go show that boyfriend of yours."

Harry and Ron were immersed in a game of wizard's chess, Charlie coaching Harry in a few spots. Hermione perched on the edge of Harry's chair, and the boy-hero slung an arm around her waist.

"Hey babe," he said, smiling up at her.

Ron captured his knight and Harry looked back down at the board, sighing with frustration.

Ginny caught Hermione's gaze and they both roller their eyes. Four moves later and the game was over, Ron the victor. Harry just shook his head and reached up to grab a consolation kiss from Hermione. He pulled back, tilted his head to the side, and smiled.

"You straightened your hair," he said, reaching up to play with a piece.

"Do you like it?" asked Hermione.

"Very pretty, but I like it curly too. I like this more." And he leaned in for another kiss.

Ginny smiled.

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So, I'm thinking in the next chapter there will be a small Lucius encounter AND some really bad news for the Order, but it's not someone dying. Again, I will try very hard to get an update next Tuesday, but with heading down to college, I might be a day late. Please leave one!


	6. Discovery of a Decoy

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.

Author's note: I'm going to get this up with two minutes to spare, literally. Going back to college was a bit more work than I thought and I've loads of homework already and a test next week. Crazy, and because of that, I am, once again, unable to reply to reviews. Very sorry about that, but I will begin again next week with the next update. Also apologies for typos as I didn't proofread all that muchly. Thanks to my reviewers, love y'all!

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Draco stepped into the main office area for the regulation of magical animals and gazed about the room. It was much like the other floors he had already visited. Cubicle dividers were strewn across the floor, some lying on top of desks and others crashed into the water coolers or filing cabinets. Papers were scattered among the debris and black stains marked where inkpots had shattered. The walls were dented in some areas and the ceiling was cracked. The room was lit by a spread of portable, floating crystal glow balls that were brought in by the emergency magicians.

"A complete mess," said Kingsley behind him. "Just like the rest of the floors. I hope this tells you something."

"If it was just like the other floors, I would still be trying to decide if they used a weather-manipulating spell along with a magical interference charm or if the weather spell was incased in a dark magic field."

"And?" asked Kingsley.

"Well I don't know just yet," said Draco. "I'm going to have to talk to whoever was in charge of warding this floor."

"I can check the report," said Kingsley, "but I don't see the difference."

"The filing cabinet, right there," said Draco. "It's still shut; the locking spell on it held. All of the desk drawers are closed as well. In fact, the way this debris is scattered, it looks as if there was one or two gusts of wind, but then whoever was called in to ward this room used a different type of shield, preventing further damage. I need to know what that spell was."

Kingsley raised his eyebrows. "I'll go find out."

The Auror left and Draco stepped further into the room, scrutinizing the scene, but he was still at a loss. This type of damage could have been caused by a few curses, and all of them were difficult to control. Whoever the Dark Lord had found to create this type of storm was good, very good, and that did not bode well at all for the Order.

"What are you thinking?" asked Dumbledore behind him.

Draco didn't turn around. "I could ask you the same question, or are you just testing me?"

"Not testing," said Dumbledore. "I have several theories, yes, but I have not had the experience in dark magic as you have. You must have narrowed down the ingredient list for such a storm."

"Not completely," said Draco. He nudged aside a few papers with his foot and stared at an ink spot on the carpet. There were no pieces of glass accompanying the dried ink; the pots were charmed to dissolve should they ever shatter. The glass had remained from the bits of bottle on the other floors as the magical storm had interfered with the glass charms, but not on this floor. Draco really wanted to know what shield charm the warder had used.

Behind him the door opened and a woman's voice echoed, coming clearer as she stepped out of the stairwell into the room.

"I already gave the Auror's my report, and I really don't think that this is necessary. I just want to go home; I've been here since six in the morning filing out papers and signing forms, and frankly, I'm sick of it."

Draco turned.

The woman was beautiful. She was of average height but she had a good figure. Her hair was dark and smooth and she flipped it over her shoulder as she spoke. She wore make-up, red lips and dark eyes, and a pin-stripe short skirt and jacket combination. Her face was irritated.

"This is a private investigation," said Dumbledore, smiling at the woman and she softened.

"Professor Dumbledore," she said, stepping over a piece of chair to shake the older man's hand, which was quite a feat in her heels. "It has been awhile."

"Five years now since you graduated, isn't it?" he asked.

"It is indeed. I didn't realize that you were investigating the storm." There was a question in that statement.

"Yes, Minister Fudge gave me a call and asked for assistance. I, in turn, elicited this young man's help and he has a few questions for you."

Dumbledore turned to Draco and the woman turned as well, her expression darkening as she recognized him.

"Professor, you do realize that is a Malfoy, right?" she asked, disdain evident in her voice.

"Draco is no longer affiliated with his father," said Dumbledore lightly. "Draco, this is Coriander Thompson."

"Draco, is it?" asked Coriander.

Draco knew what type of girl she was. She was one of those women that, should she ever be at a bar, she wouldn't ever have to pay for a drink, and she was smart, opinionated. It was the type of girl that he went for, and he knew exactly how to get her. He put on an expression of forced interest and held out his hand, not staring at the bit of cleavage she showed and looked her straight in the eye.

"Draco Malfoy," he said. And he didn't pull his hand back, not even when she pointedly ignored him, and when the silence became uncomfortable, and when Kingsley and Dumbledore were both looking at her, wondering why she wouldn't shake his hand, she finally blushed.

But it wouldn't do to leave her uncomfortable, to be the fault of this etiquette breach. He looked down on his hand and gave an embarrassed chuckle.

"Oh, sorry," he said. "You're right." He wiped his hand on his trouser leg and held out his left instead. "I was poking about a bit, but I swear this one is clean."

And she shook his head hesitantly, wondering if he really hadn't noticed her rudeness, wondering if he had just saved her face in front of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the top three Aurors in all of England for the fifth year in a row. And now, she owed him something.

"Professor Dumbledore said that you had a few questions," she said. "I wasn't aware that you held a consulting position."

The slight condescension in her voice meant that he hadn't won this battle by far. Coriander Thompson was goal-oriented; she had to be if she was called in to ward the Ministry when she had only graduated five years ago. He remembered her, of course; their schooling had overlapped by two years. She was a Ravenclaw and both her parents were Muggle-born. Ravenclaws were attracted to status and intellect. He had both, and he was just as good looking as she.

"I don't," he said, "but the Professor thought I would be helpful when it came to this."

There, he was giving his reference. Dumbledore had asked him specifically and she would realize that meant he was quite intelligent. He spoke again, just to drive his point home, incorporating a few Muggle phrases.

"There are a few theories I'm chasing on the storm, but it's proving difficult as we've never seen anything of this magnitude before. The content of the storm is nothing sort of genius, and the time-dilation field actually reversed the storm. Not calling it back in time, but causing the molecules to move backwards, like the storm was on 'rewind' but playing in real time. Of course, it would take some rather powerful spells to have such an effect and -," he cut himself off. "I'm sorry. I was rambling there; I got a bit caught up."

He gave her a small smile, brushed some of his hair back from his forehead, and, once again, looked her straight in the eye. He wasn't going to pay attention to her looks until it drove her insane.

"Getting to the point of why you are here," he said. "I was noticing that the damage on this floor is slightly less severe than on the others." But instead of letting the compliment remain, he continued. "What can you tell me about the wards originally on the floor?"

She blinked. "You think the wards on this floor prevented the damage?" Her voice was incredulous.

He knit his brow. "Didn't it?"

"Look," she said, putting her hands on her hips, "the reason that this floor isn't smashed to hell like the rest is because I shielded it."

"But there were warders on the other floors as well," said Draco. "I've spoken to them and they seem very capable-,"

"Spoken to the other men and they seem capable?" she asked. "Are you saying I'm not as capable as the 'other men'?"

He adopted a confused and slightly flustered expression. "I, uh-,"

"So you think that because I was a woman, I wouldn't be able to hold my own, is that?"

"No, I-,"

"You think that perhaps my shields wouldn't be as powerful as theirs, because I'm a girl, so there must be another reason to why this floor is less damaged, huh?"

"No," he said. "Not at all. Your femininity had nothing to do with why I thought there were additional wards on this floor. I have registered that you are a woman, but that is all."

Her expression twisted there; he knew why. Women in the workplace had to prove that gender wasn't an issue, but that often meant there was no interest from the other men at their business. They fought so hard to prove they were just the same, all the males thought any reminder of their sex would be an insult, when in fact, sometimes these women wanted to be admired and flattered.

"All of the men on the other floors used the exact same spells, the spells they always use for storms," Draco continued. "I just assumed everyone cast the weather shield and hoped for the best when different spells should have been used, when some experimentation might have prevented damage. I'm sorry for assuming that all warders were similar and I did not mean to offend."

She was mollified and a tad embarrassed, but she hid it well.

"Maybe next time you won't be so quick to jump to conclusions," she said, and then stepped over a few other pieces of debris, picking her way to the middle of the room. "When I got into the room, the lights were already flickering," she said. "Then, before I could cast a thing, the middle one exploded and it all went dark. The Floos were already down, and the wind was picking up.

"The first thing I did was to activate my personal shield, standard procedure, and then I assessed the situation." She gave a slight snort. "The big guys back in the HQ said just to use the standard weather shield. They didn't want to risk us making things worse, but I could tell that a weather shield was going to do squat. So, I improvised."

Draco walked closer, his mind cataloguing and analyzing everything she said while also playing different scenarios, wondering what would be the best course of action to get her Floo address.

"I tried a simple magic shield first, protego, kid stuff. The shield went crazy and it rebounded off that desk there. Still, it held form, so I used caligo flabra. It didn't stop the ink pots from exploding, or from all those paper airplanes to go crazy, but all of the careening desks and dividers stopped."

"Caligo flabra," said Draco, raising an eyebrow. "That's one they don't teach at the school, isn't it?"

"It's in the text book," said Coriander, turning to him, "but just mentioned in passing. I thought 'dark winds' was an accurate description of what was happening. I hope that helps."

Draco shot her a small smile. "Well, it's good to know that if your modeling career doesn't break through, you'll have something else your incredible at," he said, pitching his voice softer so that Dumbledore and Kingsley, who were examining a toppled grandfather clock in the corner, wouldn't over hear.

She looked startled. "Are you flattering me?"

He cocked his eyebrow further and let his lips twitch into a smirk.

"You're making a move," she said, mock-scandalized but enjoying the attention.

"You just solved my case," he said. "Right now I'm enthralled with you."

"Mm-hmm, and you're how young?"

"I'm of age."

"Just barely."

"Does it really matter?" He stepped closer, dropped his voice lower. "I lied," he said. "I did more than register that you're female."

"How is it coming?" came Dumbledore's voice and Draco stepped back.

"I'm done," he said. "I'll walk Ms. Thompson back to the lobby, but I want to examine one of the filing cabinets from this floor and another from the floor above. If you could ask the Minister about moving them to the atrium, it would be easier to examine them there."

"Of course," said Dumbledore, but he looked at Draco and the warder with disapproval in his eyes. Draco honestly didn't care.

"Such a gentleman," said Coriander, but she walked right past him and to the stairs. He followed her, knowing that this too was just a test. Had he hastened to keep up with her, he would have been too desperate. Had he tried to start a conversation, he would have been too young. If he hadn't followed her, he wouldn't have been interested, so he followed her through the stairwell, matching her pace, until they came out into the atrium that was only filled with the few guards who hadn't gone on lunch break with the rest.

"This is my stop," she said.

"Would you like an escort to the Floo?" he asked, holding out a hand as if to a lady.

"You're five years younger than me," she started.

"I like older women."

She laughed, taking his hand. "I'm sure you do," she said. She started walking towards the fireplace, but slowly, and she still held his arm.

"I take it this means you like younger men?" Draco asked.

"I like smart men," she said. "You're only half of that, but you'll do."

They stopped right before the fireplaces and drifted into the small maintenance hall beside it. He skillfully backed her against the wall and reached out, brushing her hair softly back from her face. He could feel her heartbeat quicken as he rested his hand on the soft skin of her neck. From closer up, she had a light smattering of well-concealed freckles across her nose.

There was a flash of red in his mind, accompanied by another set of freckles, freckles that weren't covered up by concealer, freckles that adorned a straight nose and a pink set of cheeks, just below hazel eyes. Suddenly, having Coriander Thompson pressed against him wasn't right, and it wasn't her, oh no, she was as beautiful as ever, but something must be wrong with him. And for the first time, Draco hesitated.

It was just a brief moment where his hand stilled, and he paused as he was angling towards her lips, but it was eternity. A name was called to mind, a name that scared him even as he felt a prick of desire. Ginny Weasley.

The glitch was only half a second at most, but Coriander laughed, caught his hands, and gently pushed him back.

"Look, Draco," she said. "I'm flattered, really, but you don't want this."

"Don't want what?" he asked, cocking his head to the side, already planning on salvaging this connection with Coriander in hopes for a night to make him forget the girl with red hair and hazel eyes, the girl with the last name which clearly put her out of bounds.

"Don't want a quick shag with me," she said bluntly. "Or maybe you really do, but for the wrong reasons. Go out and find a girl your age, alright?"

He was already beginning to protest, but she stepped forward, pressed a kiss to his cheek and a card in his hand.

"In three years, if you're not married or with a girl, look me up," she said.

She sashayed away and then through the Floo, leaving him standing with her business card in hand and an array of thoughts in his head. He frowned and flipped the card through his fingers, turning from the Floo as the stairwell door opened across the hall and Dumbledore and Kingsley stepped through, floating a pair of cabinets along with them.

"Well?" asked Kingsley, raising his eyebrows and sharing a smile.

Draco shrugged and held up the card. "Got her number," he said.

Kingsley looked impressed; Dumbledore still looked disapproving. Draco pocketed the card and changed the subject.

"You can set the cabinets down now. This should just take a few minutes."

"And the reason we had to bring them down, was?" asked Kingsley.

"Magical residue," said Draco. "Whenever a magical object goes haywire, it leaves a certain static directly afterwards that can affect spells being cast in the general vicinity. There are less objects down here to retain that static so my spells will be cleaner."

He knelt by the cabinets and examined the drawers that had not been protected by Coriander's shield, the one from the other floor. The locking spells were just placed on the hinge mechanism, and the metal had been peeled back from the strain of the storm before completely giving in and splitting. Coriander's lock on the other hand just bore marks of strain, but remained largely undamaged.

He cast a few spells on each of the filing cabinets, gauging the amount of dark magic the equipment had absorbed and if the locking spells were still functional, even if the cabinet was broken. He let his fingers tap out their pattern as he ran the results through his head, trying to match dark curses with the after effects.

"Do you need to go back to your study?" asked Dumbledore. "Or something to write on, perhaps?"

"No," said Draco. He stood. "The storm itself was made up of several weather spells. Nebulosa, imbriferium pluvius, and most likely ventosus."

"I thought you said they ran the storm backwards," said Kingsley.

"They did," said Draco.

"But you just said-,"

"They caught the storm and put it in a time field," said Draco. "To run the storm backwards they would have introduced a few storm starting spells to reinitiate it."

"But how do you know what spells they used?"

"Magic has a life of its own," said Draco. "When it is used, it seeps into the environment, not by large amounts, but enough to be traceable if the spell was cast recently. Items exposed to a large quantity will retain more amounts, and if an object is constantly exposed to spells, it will 'come alive' with the magic in a sense. Ever wonder why your lights get temperamental, or after a while you have to get a new dicta-quill every few months? That's the magic taking hold."

"And you measured how much dark magic each cabinet has," said Kingsley.

Draco nodded. "The one that Coriander warded with the anti-dark weather spell only has trace amounts of dark magic. The other is showing a severe amount, which means that the storm was re-created with some of the darkest weather spells available. Nebulosa, pluvius, and ventosus."

He stepped back slightly, enjoying the small success, but a cold, drawling voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Well, what have we here?"

Draco whipped around. Lucius Malfoy stood a few feet from them, indigo robes draped over his frame, his white-blond hair perfectly combed, falling to his shoulders. One hand was resting on his favorite cane, a deep red-brown wood with silver bottom and tip. It wasn't a snake on the head of the cane though; no, it was a dragon.

Draco knew he paled. He knew because he could feel the blood drain from his face and he felt light-headed. He could only stare, completely shocked, but Kingsley Shacklebolt was trained for shock. As soon as he spotted Lucius Malfoy, he was stepping forward, and before Draco could do anything besides blink, he had neatly stepped in front of him, shielding him from view.

"Malfoy," he said, his voice hard. "I haven't seen you in a while. How long has it been since the last raid on your home?"

Lucius' eyes glinted, but he merely raised an eyebrow. "Last year for the fifth and last time. Your lack of incriminating evidence will keep you out of my home for quite awhile, my lawyers have seen to that."

"Don't be too sure," said Kingsley.

His father's lips twisted into a sneer, and then he turned to Dumbledore, not even glancing in Draco's direction. Draco didn't know if he should feel relieved or slighted.

"Ah, Dumbledore," said Lucius with a fake sort of geniality. "I did not realize that Fudge was so desperate he hired you to investigate the disturbance. Tell me, are the other officials really that inept?"

"Of course not," said Dumbledore, twinkling at the blond man, something which truly seemed to annoy Lucius. "Our team is just that good. What brings you to the Ministry at this time? I don't believe any of the offices are open."

Lucius shrugged, a motion that sent his fine robes rippling.

"I came to see the damage," he said, a small, cool smile on his lips. "While the Ministry will no doubt recover in a few days time, I don't doubt it might take a while to find the perpetrators, even if your team is that good, Albus."

"Huntington Lawn," said Draco, and at that his father started, so slight he was sure he was the only one who noticed it.

"What was that?" asked Dumbledore, turning his full attention to Draco.

"Huntington Lawn," Draco repeated. He had already plotted the course and speed of the storm in his head, and once he added in the additional time to modify the storm, he could get an approximate distance for the storm's origins. From then on it was just being familiar with the old, Pureblood estates outside of northern London. Huntington Lawn was mostly abandoned, but it held the space necessary for something as large as capturing a storm.

He continued with his analysis, wanting, for some insane reason, for Lucius to at least acknowledge his presence, to look at him, if only so he knew he still existed in his father's mind.

"That was where the storm would have been captured, contained, and reversed. No doubt the site has been cleared by now, but it wouldn't be too hard to extrapolate exactly who would have this sort of knowledge. A former student of wards and weather spells, perhaps one who has attended the Merlin Institute of Weather Control in Ireland. I'm sure you can find an applicable candidate from the enrollment papers there."

He knew he was right. He knew he was right even before his father's eyes flickered.

"I'll look right into that," said Dumbledore. He twinkled again as he turned to Lucius, and Draco had the feeling he was just doing so because it flustered his father. "I did tell you my team was good."

Lucius' cold mask slipped on, and he shrugged again, indolently, sending another ripple along his robes. His attention turned to the high, cracked ceiling of the atrium and then to the damage beyond.

"It does make you wonder though," he remarked casually, "why the child of magic and weather was…wasted on this." He smirked and looked back at them. His eyes were cruel as he turned further, locking gazes with Draco. "Has that thought crossed your mind?"

Draco couldn't move, couldn't even if he wanted. He stared back at his father, giving no expression and receiving none. Lucius was the first to break the gaze, but there was no victory in holding it longest. Lucius was brushing him off, and then he moved away, walking towards the entrance, his robes flowing around him. Draco watched him leave, his words finally registering, and bringing with it a sense of dread.

He was moving before he was even conscious of it, one soft word leaving his mouth.

"_Merde_!"

It was whispered, but the panic wasn't lost. He ran towards the stairwell door, jerking it open and taking the steps at a reckless pace. He ignored Dumbledore's shout and the sound of feet behind him. Only one thought remained: why hadn't he realized this sooner?

The storm was genius, more than genius. In fact, had the time been taken, the storm could have been far more deadly. Now, however, such a storm would be studied and new shields would be created to block it. Yes, it would still cause damage, but only slightly. Voldemort had wasted his finest creation and for what? So that the Ministry would be out less than a week on repairs? Draco didn't think so.

In fact, now that he realized it, it was glaringly obvious. After all, the Department of Mysteries was protected by much more than the simple 'dark winds' shield of Coriander Thompson. The department was shielded better than the rest of the Ministry, better than Hogwarts and Gringotts combined.

And there were private collectors who would have had a coin from the Quintus Flavius era. How come he hadn't seen this before? It was what his Boggart said, "Power hungry madmen only want one thing: power." And how did the Dark Lord get power? Through his Horcruxes.

He pushed open the last door, landing in the small atrium of the Department of Ministries and the doors weren't spinning, no, they were propped open, or at least, six of them were. The seventh, with the light on the bottom of it, was still shut. It was obvious that no one had the clearance to check for damage down here, or else the doors would have been reported already.

The Veil room was straight ahead and he sprinted it. There was a row of candles in a half-circle before the Veil, a path in the middle, and the stone floor in front of the tattered fabric was wet. He approached the Veil, already noting the folded piece of parchment spelled to the side of the arc. As he drew closer, he could make out his name written in red letters with a spidery hand.

He was close enough to touch the parchment now. Dumbledore and Kingsley's entrances, and Dumbledore's order of 'Don't!' weren't enough to deter him from reaching out. He knew nothing would happen.

He pulled the parchment down and stared at his name before unfolding the paper.

_Draco – _

_No doubt you are close to discovering how the storm was called, but now you know why. I feel some acknowledgement is necessary as your instruction was the sole reason I have obtained my Horcrux. This is a vital step in regaining my footing as Dark Lord, and so, my Dragon, thank you._

_Lord Voldemort_

_Do not think this assistance on your part will earn you any mercy in my sight the next time we meet._

Draco had read the message before Dumbledore had a change to snatch it away and cast a variety of revealing spells on the letter. When he was satisfied that the letter was not hexed, he skimmed over the contents, and then read them more slowly.

Draco turned around, running a hand through his hair and clenching his jaw in agitation. How could he have missed something like that? He had given the Dark Lord the ability to retrieve his Horcrux, and then had left. He should have insisted that the Order retrieve the Horcrux immediately. He should have gotten the Horcrux out himself. He should have realized that the Dark Lord was capable of something like this.

He didn't realize he had started to pace until Dumbledore's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Draco," said Dumbledore, his blue eyes sincere and for once not twinkling, "this is in no way your fault."

Draco stared back, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but Dumbledore spoke again.

"I mean this, Draco. This is in no way your doing; do not blame yourself."

Draco desperately wanted to say 'then who is to blame', but he knew the Headmaster would just say 'Voldemort' or some other ridiculous nonsense of the like, so he shut his mouth, and he nodded.

"Let's go back," said the Headmaster. "We'll talk about this then."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bill wasn't in the dining room when Draco, Kingsley, and Dumbledore came back. He was with Fleur, rocking Lukas in his arms as the baby slowly fell asleep. The light by the door had flashed twice, alerting them that someone had arrived, but he didn't want to leave until Lukas was thoroughly asleep.

He looked around the room in contentment. He had roped his brothers in to setting up the room with the nursery furniture back at his house, and now the living room sported not only a king-sized bed, but a new crib, a cradle, a changing table and dresser for diapers and baby clothes, various mobiles and toys, a few select stuffed animals, and the rocking chair he was in. Hermione had even helped them change the color scheme from the darker burgundy to a soft yellow with blue carpet. It was a cheery room and sometimes he thought that he could stay in here forever.

Fleur and his mother were knitting in the couch that had been shoved to the back of the room and they had already finished a plethora of tiny baby socks and caps. Right now they were working on a blanket. Hermione had helped a bit with that, apparently she had plenty of experience because of her SPEW campaign. Ginny hadn't even attempted to join; she would never be a sewing girl and after The Sewing Machine Incident, Mrs. Weasley had no longer forced her to attempt anything relating to needles and thread. She had managed to stop Lukas' screaming fit earlier that day though.

Lukas gave a tiny cough that caused his nose to wrinkle and his face to scrunch. Bill smiled and shifted his grasp; it was surprising how heavy such a small bundle could get after half an hour.

There was a light knock on the door, and then it opened to reveal Dumbledore. His expression was grave and, what was more alarming, his eyes had lost their twinkle.

"What happened?" asked Bill, getting to his feet while trying not to wake Lukas.

"A few things," said Dumbledore. "Do you have a few moments?"

"Of course," said Bill, passing Lukas off to his wife and then following Dumbledore out to the dining room. Shacklebolt was there as well but Draco was absent.

"Voldemort regained his Horcrux," said Dumbledore once the door shut.

Bill blinked. "What?"

"He managed to get a coin from the Quintus Flavius era and he used the storm as a way to get everyone out of the Ministry building. The Department of Ministries is shielded against even the darkest of storms, and so Voldemort was able to recall his Horcrux."

"Shit," said Bill, dropping into a chair. "How-?" he started, but then he trailed off. He didn't even know what he was asking anymore. He took a breath and then started with the most important question. "Where's Draco?"

"In his study," said Dumbledore. "William, Tom wrote him a letter of thanks."

"What?"

"On the Veil where he would find it," said Dumbledore. "And Lucius was at the Ministry today."

"Shit," said Bill again. "Where's the letter?"

"Draco took it back from me," said Dumbledore. "I don't think he should have it."

"I don't think he's going to give it up," said Bill. "I'm going to go talk to him. I assume you called in the rest of the Order?"

"They'll be here in a few minutes."

Bill nodded and then left for Draco's study. The door was shut, which he expected, but it was also locked, which threw him. He didn't even think it had a lock.

He knocked. "Draco, it's Bill."

He could hear Draco's sigh through the wood, but then the door swung open revealing a very weary Draco Malfoy.

"Come for another therapy session?" he asked.

Bill wondered if Draco was getting sick of him showing up every time something went wrong, and then he decided he didn't care. Draco needed to learn to express his emotions, or at least talk about his feelings instead of bottling everything up.

Draco turned and went back to his chair. He slumped in it, idly walking a pencil through his fingers. Bill shut the door and then walked over to the other chair across from Draco. He pulled it out and sat, keeping his eyes on Draco who didn't once look up.

"Dumbledore told me what happened," he said.

Draco rolled his eyes but still didn't look up. Bill noticed the piece of parchment on the desk and picked it up.

"May I?" he asked, remembering another time when he hadn't asked permission.

Draco shrugged. "Go for it."

Bill opened the paper and read the message, feeling his stomach clench at the sick, twisted words. He resisted the urge to rip the sheet up into shreds because he doubted Draco really needed that right now.

"You do know that Voldemort is mad," he said.

Draco snorted, finally looking up. "Yes, Bill, I am aware of that."

"This is in no way your fault."

"You sound like Dumbledore."

"Well, he's right. You staged one of the biggest blows to Voldemort by feeding him that information and cleared Sirius' name. Don't forget that."

"Is that worth giving the Dark Lord another piece of his soul?"

"You didn't give him the Horcrux. You did everything in your power to stop him."

"No," said Draco. "I didn't. If I had, I would have taken the Horcrux the minute that Veil room was clear and blasted it with the darkest curses I could find."

"Draco, you were passed out in a hospital," said Bill. "There was nothing you could have done."

"And what about after?" Draco snapped. "It should have been my top priority."

"Stop blaming yourself for everything," said Bill. "It should have been _our_ top priority, and it was. We had no idea that a storm like that was going to come, and we had no idea that Voldemort had found another coin. Sometimes we just get caught off guard, but you can't beat yourself up for it. Sometimes the bad guys win a round."

"And that's your philosophy on life? Sometimes the bad guys win a round?"

"Not entirely, but when they do, learn from the mistake, learn how to prevent anything like that from happening again, and move on. Just second guessing every step you made is just going to drive you insane."

Draco let out a breath and leaned back in his chair. Bill watched as he ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly on the strands before letting out a half-laugh.

"I need a drink," he muttered.

Bill frowned in concern. The kid had just gotten clean from the Angel-Flight and he didn't want him turning to alcohol next, but Draco caught his frown.

"I want one, but that doesn't mean I'm actually going to get one," he said with another slight eye roll.

"Just making sure," said Bill. He could hear voices from down the hall and stood. "Coming to the meeting?"

"Yeah," said Draco, getting up as well, but it appeared to be a strain. Bill remembered that he hadn't slept at all last night, and he gave himself a reminder to get the kid to bed early.

The Order members arrived in a short amount of time, all of their expressions fearful because Dumbledore was still looking grave. None of them took the news about the Horcrux very well.

"It was his idea, wasn't it?" Mad-eye Moody growled, jumping up and staring straight at Severus. "You decided that the storm would occupy us and you covered for Voldemort."

Severus looked unimpressed. "I was unaware of the storm, just as everyone else was. The Dark Lord has only recently brought his research and experiment group into the Death Eaters awareness."

"A pretty story," Moody snapped. "What else are you feeding Voldemort, huh? Are you telling him about the meeting right now?"

"No, how could I tell the Dark Lord about it right now? I'm waiting for later of course."

Snape's dark humor was lost on Moody and Sirius didn't take it well either.

"Are you joking about this, Snivellus? I bet you think it would be funny to turn us all in, don't you?"

"Gentlemen," said Dumbledore, "please, this is no time for there to be a division among us."

"How do you even know that we're all on the same side?" asked Moody.

"I trust Severus explicitly," said Dumbledore, "as should you all."

"And what about the Malfoy boy?" Moody continued. "How do you know he's not playing some sort of elaborate game?"

Bill started forward at that, ready to jump in to defend Draco, and he noted that several other members looked about to speak up, but Draco startled them all by laughing.

"Are you serious?" he asked.

"No," Fred and George chimed in, pointing at Black, "he is." That earned them a dark look from their mother but Draco didn't even acknowledge them.

"I mean, honestly, if I or Snape had been working for the Dark Lord, everyone of you would be dead right now. How hard do you really think it is to kill a group of twenty-odd people? I can do it in a heartbeat, just give me the right ingredients. I think you all need to realize that if anyone of us was working for the Dark Lord, he would have made his move already."

"Snape is a Death Eater," said Moody, "so why aren't we dead already?"

Draco looked heavenward as if praying for patience. "Because," he said slowly, "his true allegiance is here. Furthermore the Dark Lord doesn't trust Snape. If he did, he would have used him to play an integral part in an ambush for all of you, but the Dark Lord can't know for sure if he wouldn't double cross him. Besides, he has no clue that Snape is even a part of the Order. He is just using him to keep an eye on Harry at Hogwarts."

"I still don't trust you," said Moody, "nor do I think anyone else should. It's a mistake trusting anyone remotely Slytherin. I'm keeping an eye on you."

His magical eye swiveled to Draco menacingly. Draco shocked Bill, and the rest of the table, by flipping Moody the backwards peace sign. Before anyone could to anything more than choke on coffee – Kingsley had just taken a sip of his and Lupin had to pound him on the back – Draco stood, scraping his chair back.

"While all of you sit and debate the finer points of Judas and thirty pieces of silver, I'm going to work on something useful which may actually help us win this war."

And then he strode out of the room and to his study, shutting the door forcefully. Bill had no doubt he locked it once more and warded it for noise. The table exchanged looks; Dumbledore turned to Bill who sighed and shook his head.

"You'll have to excuse Draco," said Dumbledore. "He's had a rather trying morning. Now, Harry hasn't had any visions yet, so I believe we can assume that Voldemort hasn't rejoined the Horcrux to him."

"What does the rejoining do?" asked Arthur.

"Voldemort created the Horcruxes to ensure his immortality," said Dumbledore. "That was why the rebound of the Avada didn't kill him, but because he was so weak from splitting his soul, he became nothing more than a spirit. Now, however, he has regained strength through other dark means, so he is essentially human once more. When he regained his Horcrux from Nagini, his power doubled. It is my belief that he will continue restoring his soul so that he will have the advantage when he finally faces Harry. We know of the Horcruxes now, and should he once more have his body damaged as he did after failing to kill Harry, we would not rest until everyone is found and destroyed. He knows that, which is why he is piecing his soul back together."

"How does he join the Horcrux back to himself?" asked Hermione.

"Someone must willingly die for him," said Dumbledore. "Unfortunately, that means he uses the Imperius curse on the unsuspecting."

"If the Horcruxes can increase the caster power thought, why haven't more people tried it?" she asked.

"Normally rejoining a Horcrux would not do so," said Dumbledore. "But when Voldemort was wounded, I think the connection between him and the Horcruxes was broken because he was too weak to sustain them. Like any living thing, they grew, which is why he gains power by rejoining them. While it may not appear so, this is to our advantage. He should be able to locate his remaining Horcrux, the Hufflepuff goblet, simply because it is a part of him and he should feel its presence, but he cannot. We need to find that cup before he does."

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Yay for angsty Draco. Please leave a review on your way out.


	7. Forgotten Dreams

Disclaimer: Yeah, right.

Author's Note: Hi. I'm sorry. I suddenly realized how important this chapter was to the fourth story and needed to plot out the basics of the fourth so I could write this one, even though nothing will come into play in this story, so you had to wait. Apologies.

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Draco decided that, after he slammed shut his study door, flipping Moody off in front of the entire Order may not have been one of his most mature moments, but he couldn't bring himself to feel guilty or embarrassed. The ex-Auror had been asking for it.

He scowled at his table which was covered in various books and parchments. A flick of his wand sent everything except a piece of parchment and a quill to the bookcases that lined the back wall. He pulled out a chair and sat, his hand reaching for the quill as his mind sped through hypotheses and possibilities. Along with the thoughts came a dull ache from the base of his skull. A migraine was slowly building.

There was a knock on the door fifteen minutes later. Draco looked up.

"What?" he asked, his voice clipped.

"Can I come in?"

It was Bill and he sounded hesitant. Draco remembered his snide comment about therapy sessions before the Order meeting and wondered if Bill had taken it to heart. He hadn't meant to offend Bill, knowing that the eldest Weasley sibling was only trying to help. He also had a sneaking suspicion that Bill might actually be right about the whole 'sharing your feelings' thing, but he was sick of people checking up on him. He was a bloody genius, for Merlin's sake. He wasn't helpless.

He waved his wand, pulling down the locking charm.

"It's open."

Bill stepped in, giving him a small smile.

"What are you working on?"

"A ward specifically for the storm."

"There are specialists working on that," said Bill.

Draco scoffed. "The wards the 'specialists' will be working on will only seek to protect from the storm."

"And yours does more," said Bill.

"I'm working on a way to deactivate the storm while tracking it back to its point of origin."

There was a pause, but then Bill spoke again.

"Should you really be working on this right now?"

Draco frowned. "Why wouldn't I?"

Bill shrugged. "I just think you need a break, you know? You've just recovered from the past few weeks, and then you go and deliver Lukas, and now you're working on a highly intricate shield. Maybe it's too much."

"It's not."

"I mean, you haven't even slept last night."

"Because I slept all of yesterday," said Draco.

"I'm just saying, maybe you should take a step back."

"I like to keep busy."

Another beat.

"Is it because of Lucius?"

Draco put down his quill. "What about him?"

"Dumbledore said you saw him today. Did he say anything?"

"Besides hinting at the fact that the storm was a decoy, no."

"And that bothers you," said Bill.

Draco scoffed again and looked back down at his paper.

"Draco, you have a right to be angry at him."

"I'm not."

"Upset then."

"I'm not upset."

"Then why aren't you looking at me?"

"Because, right now, I don't want to talk about this."

"You want to just bury yourself in your work, is that it?" asked Bill. "So you can forget."

Draco remained silent.

"This is something you can't just brush off," said Bill. "It's not going to go away just because you distract yourself. He's your father, and he hurt you, and it is okay to be angry at that. It's okay to be mad at him."

"I'm not mad at him," said Draco. The migraine was growing; he tried to push it aside.

"You can't keep acting like this isn't bothering you."

"I said I wasn't mad at him," Draco snapped, looking up and glaring at Bill. "Can you stop interrogating me now?"

"And leave you to sulk in your work? To distract yourself until you burn out?"

"I'm not going to burn out."

"If you keep up like this, you will. Come on, you can talk to me. If you're not angry at him, who are you mad at? Voldemort? Moody? Me?"

"Well, right now I'm a little frustrated."

Bill just smiled grimly and pulled out the other chair. He sat in it and raised his eyebrows at Draco, almost challengingly. Draco sighed and slumped back; he had learned when it was better to just give in to the damned red-heads.

"I'm not mad at…him," he said. Calling him 'father' was wrong, but 'Lucius' seemed so formal and distant. "I'm mad that I'm angry."

Bill frowned and Draco sighed again, shifting in his seat.

"He never…he never said that he cared for me. I mean, he cared for me, but he never said it, he never said…," he trailed off.

"He never said that he loved you," Bill guessed.

"No," said Draco, shaking his head. "Malfoy's never admit to that. We do have endearments that are acceptable, but he never said them to me. I just…I liked to think that when he took me places or bought me things, he did care for me. But after seeing him at the Ministry, he didn't say anything. He didn't notice that I was there at all and now I think he never did and I…I'm upset that I made myself believe he did care for me. I'm angry that I'm this upset when I should have seen all along that I was nothing to him."

Once the words were out of his mouth, he felt even more angry and he had to bite back a curse. Wasn't he supposed to feel better now? Wasn't this whole 'talking about feelings' supposed to bring some relief? Just another thing he had believed that turned out not to be true. For a genius, he was exceedingly illiterate when it came to these emotional sorts of things. He wished he was back in his apartment, burying himself in the shield, not here, not now.

"Draco," said Bill, and then he stopped as if debating what to say. "You said that Lucius helped you through your addiction during the summer. Now I would like to believe that your father is a cold bastard, that he is evil incarnate because-," Bill seemed to check himself right there and Draco frowned, but Bill continued.

"Because of who he is and what he does, but from what you said of him, I can't believe that. He took that entire summer off for you and that is a definite indication that he does care. You said that he killed his own mother for what she did to Lukas, and I am positive, that if she had tried to harm you, he would have done far worse."

Draco rolled his eyes. "That's all speculation; you don't even know him. Your entire argument is based on hearsay."

"You're right, I don't know him," said Bill. "But I do know you."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Because I believe that any person with the smallest amount of brain power will realize what a special kid you are. Yes, you can be a right bastard when you wish, but underneath that is an incredibly sharp, witty, and thoughtful boy that no one could not care for."

Draco snorted. "Half your Order hates me. You've just disproved your own theory."

"Half of them don't know you," said Bill. "And my family, and Sirius and Kingsley, were ready to jump down Moody's throat. And I think they would have if you hadn't proved just how well you can handle yourself."

Draco shifted at that. They had?

"Although," Bill continued, "for future reference, storming out of the room is a little bitchy."

Draco snorted, feeling his lips twitch up at that. "Noted."

"And I mean what I said," said Bill. "Lucius has to care for you; he's probably just completely unreadable. You get that from him."

Draco nodded. It was true; he had learned from the best and no doubt his mask would have been perfected by the time he graduated if he hadn't met Bill in sixth year. That little bit of friendship had halted all improvements on his cold façade.

"Now," said Bill, letting out a breath, "let's get you off of this ward thing, you can work on it later. We are going to have some fun."

He pulled away the parchment from the table and then pulled the translating journals off of the bookshelf.

"You are going to catch me up, and then we are going to have the translations done by the time school starts again. And if we aren't done, I'll hold you from school just so we can finish. I'm desperate to publish a book, if only so I don't have to go back to work on the bank."

"Are finances tight?" asked Draco.

"No. Fleur gets paid maternity leave from her design job and the Ministry paid well on my coding gig," said Bill. "So we're fine, but I would have to get a job if only to keep myself busy. But, I figure if I publish a book, then I would have an excuse to work on other runes, even if I don't get anywhere."

He plopped the journals down on the table and sat again. Draco leaned closer, and although he did feel better, something which surprised him, his migraine throbbed and he winced, reaching up to rub his temples.

"You alright?" asked Bill.

"Just a headache," said Draco.

"So that means a migraine, right?"

"A slight one," Draco admitted because he doubted Bill would believe him if he said no.

"Do you want a pain reliever?"

"They don't really help."

"You want to lie down for a bit?"

"I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Bill?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Bill laughed; Draco picked up his quill.

Draco liked working with Bill. The Weasley was familiar with all types of runes and grammar styles, which made him a quick study, and he had experience in the field which meant that he often had good insight when trying to translate between two similar dialects.

Bill had also studied up on the Persian Runes and the advancements that Draco had made. After a short review, where they plotted out the changes from five through two, they got started on the first.

Although Draco did find some catharsis talking to Bill, it was a little harder to focus, but that could just be the headache that was currently residing in the back of his brain. He doubted anything but a whiskey-diluted pain reliever and a two hour nap would help, and the cure didn't seem enticing at the moment, the whiskey because he was still waiting for the remaining craving for the Angel-Flight to dissolve, and the nap because he was never able to sleep during the day and he would just lie on his bed with nothing to think about except unpleasant recent events. That was something he could do without.

Bill didn't seem in perfect condition either. He was constantly rolling his shoulders back and twisting his neck from side to side.

"Long night?" asked Draco.

"Slept funny," said Bill. "I took a muscle relaxant this morning, but I think it's wearing off. I must have really been in the wrong position."

Draco watched him roll his neck back in a circle and snorted.

"To say the least," he said, and looked back down at the parchment.

He looked right back up when the door opened and Ginny came through. She was one person he could have gone without speaking to, especially after his failed attempt with Coriander. He couldn't understand why he was constantly thinking about her, why someone who was completely aggravating to him also intrigued him. It didn't help that she was a cute girl to begin with.

Right now her hair was free, falling over her shoulders and curling at the ends. In contrast to her hair, her clothes were older, obviously of the 'lay about the house' persuasion, but while her trousers were worn and torn at the cuffs, they clung to her hips and thighs. Her shirt was faded and long-sleeved but every time she moved, a glimpse of her stomach showed. He stared for an entire two seconds before remembering exactly who she was.

"Hey, Mum says dinner's in half an hour," she said, approaching the table. "What are you working on?"

"Persian Runes," said Bill, now rubbing the back of his neck.

"Which one?" she asked.

"First."

"Made any progress?"

"A fair amount," said Bill, still rubbing and then Ginny laughed.

"Here, let me."

She stepped behind her brother and rubbed the back of his neck, digging her thumbs into his shoulders.

"Right here?" she asked.

"Up a little, yeah," said Bill, half grimacing. He groaned as she continued rubbing, the tension draining from his neck and shoulders.

"You really shouldn't sleep in chairs," said Ginny. "You're not exactly young anymore."

"Hey!" said Bill. "I am not old."

"I didn't say you were old. I just said you were no longer young."

"Not being young implies being old."

"Does not."

"Does too. Draco, aren't I right?"

Draco shrugged. "Not really. It depends how the word is used semantically."

"You're supposed to tell her that I'm right," said Bill.

"I stick with the facts," said Draco, turning back to the papers.

"Ha!" said Ginny, patting Bill's shoulders in victory and then stepping around him to look at the papers. She screwed up her face at the glyphs.

It was all Draco could do not to look at her, trying to stay concentrated on his work. The migraine was now throbbing and his hand absent-mindedly rose to rub at his temples as he skimmed at the notes he had made so far. He must have been wincing because Bill spoke.

"I can get you a pain reliever. Maybe it won't cure a migraine, but it should at least take the edge off."

Draco shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Do you get migraines a lot?" asked Ginny.

He shrugged. "Now and then."

"Are you sure it isn't a tension headache? Percy, the brother we don't talk about any more, used to think his tension headaches were migraines."

Draco looked up at that. He had known that there was some division in the Weasley family, but how far had it gone? Bill's eyes had darkened a bit and Draco raised an eyebrow at him.

Ginny crossed behind him, and he started to turn, but she stopped him with her hands on his shoulders.

"Hold still," she commanded.

"What are you– shit!"

He jerked away. Her fingers had pressed on the base of his neck and something had twinged, sending a bolt of pain right up into the base of his skull.

"See?" said Ginny, sounding quite smug. "It's a tension headache."

"Thank you for the secondary diagnosis," said Draco, his voice biting, and then her hands returned to his shoulders. He started to turn again to shove her off. Now his neck was sore as well and he didn't want her pressing any further. Besides, he was never fond of physical proximity, especially when someone else's hands were right by his neck as strangulation was entirely too easy in that position. Ginny shoved him back around; she had the leverage.

"Sit," she commanded.

Draco wanted to object, but then her fingers gently kneaded the muscles in the base of his neck. He paused because the touch was pleasant, more than pleasant, and then her fingers slid over a group of knotted muscles and slowly rolled over them.

If Draco had been an expressive person, he would have groaned at the relief. As it was, his head dropped forward, almost of its own accord. Bill laughed at him, but Ginny obligingly massaged the strained area.

Draco could feel the pressure running from his back to his head, but with the pressure, his headache steadily lessened. She worked her way down to his shoulders and he could feel himself starting to relax, could feel his muscles loosening, and then, as her fingers moved from his shoulders to his bare neck, he felt something completely different.

He was suddenly aware of the heat radiating from her fingers, and the way it soothed his cool skin. She was leaning forward and a bit of her hair brushed against him, teasing him with the light touch because, if he moved backwards only a few inches, he would be pressed against her chest. She smelled of lavender and vanilla, no doubt the shampoo she used.

He suddenly wanted her to stop because she was confusing him again. No, she wasn't confusing. He was confusing himself with his apparent enthrallment. He was relieved when Mrs. Weasley called down the hall for her to help with dinner.

"I've got to go," she said, giving his shoulders on last squeeze. "Feeling any better?"

"Yeah, thanks." He said it casually, like he hadn't been enjoying her touch more than he should.

"Good," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "And good luck with your runes."

He watched her leave, eyes drifting to the sliver of back that her shirt rode up to expose before remembering who else was in the room, and he made it look as if he was merely making sure the door was closed all the way.

"Headache gone?" asked Bill.

"Mostly," said Draco, twisting his neck experimentally. He could feel that the muscles were looser, and the sharp pain had lessened to a dull ache.

"Think you'll be able to concentrate now? I mean, I am doing all of the work here," Bill teased.

Draco looked down at the parchment in front of him and then blinked. He hadn't noticed that before. He turned the parchment to Bill.

"I got the verbs."

Bill stared at him. "You serious?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

He shrugged. "It just sorta hit me."

Bill pulled the parchment closer and frowned. "Show me."

So Draco did, and Bill caught on before dinner was put on the table. After the meal, where Draco steadfastly avoided the youngest Weasley, they worked a bit more but then Bill called it quits for the night.

"I'm gonna turn in," he said. "You should get to bed as well."

Draco frowned and Bill sighed.

"At least go to bed at a somewhat decent hour."

Draco nodded, and then brought up a few journals to his room to work on. Everyone else was heading to bed as well. It seemed there was nothing more straining than finding out that the opposing faction had won a major victory.

After cleaning his teeth and changing into a pair of pajama pants, he sat down to read a little. He wasn't prepared to be so tired, and he only made it through a few pages before turning off the lights and crawling into bed. Normally he would put a silencing charm on his door, but it seemed quiet, and just then, he was too tired to care. He halfway realized that something seemed to be pulling under, but it was too late to fight.

'_Hello, again.'_

_Draco whirled around, spotting the open door of the Veil room. He stepped in._

'_Right back at you,' he said. 'You were decidedly allusive the last time we talked, and I would like a few questions answered.'_

'_There is no time for that. You did not perform the ritual.'_

'_Because the Horcrux was already removed.'_

'_Yes, it was. But you did not come into direct contact with our plane and the connection is weak. We are using your own magical energies to speak with you, and wasting time could bring damage to your mind and body.'_

'_So I'll go back, toss some blood in, and we can have a longer conversation.'_

'_We cannot speak with you after this.'_

'_Why not?'_

'_Because with the retrieval of Sirius Black and the Horcrux, there is nothing anchoring us to this world and our influence will die out until another crosses the Veil.'_

'_There must be thousands who have crossed over," said Draco._

'_Yes, but those who have crossed the boundary have done so hundreds of years ago. They have passed out of human thought, and so we have as well.'_

'_What do you want?'_

'_To save your world.'_

'_Shouldn't you talk to Harry Potter then? Perhaps you've heard of him. He's my age, really messy hair, scar on his forehead?'_

'_He cannot defeat the one known as Voldemort on his own.'_

'_And you think I can help?'_

'_You are the only one who can help.'_

'_How so?'_

'_The door must be opened.'_

'_What door?'_

'_The seventh door must be open and its power must be unleashed.'_

'_How do I do that?'_

'_You must speak in the unknown tongue the words of the forgotten.'_

_Draco rolled his eyes. 'Look, you were the one that said time was of the essence. Can't you speak a little plainer?'_

'_You will understand when you are ready.'_

'_I'm not ready now?'_

_A chuckle. 'Do you know what is behind the door?'_

'_It is widely theorized that the door is love,' said Draco._

'_But you don't believe that love has a power of its own.'_

_It was not a question, but Draco felt he should answer it anyway._

'_Love is an emotion,' he said. 'It can be manipulated, feigned, and even destroyed.'_

'_And that is why you are not ready, but when you are, you will remember.'_

'_What do you mean, I will remember?'_

'_When you wake, you will not remember us. Not until you truly understand.'_

_Draco stared at the Veil. 'This is absolutely ridiculous, you do know that, right?' he asked, completely fed up with whoever it was behind that Veil. _

'_Good-bye.'_

'_No, wait!'_

"Draco!"

Someone was calling his name; it sounded distant. Even as he was trying to gauge the distance, he felt himself rushing forward, as if propelled by some unseen force.

There was a sting on his face.

"Draco, wake up dammit!"

He was trying; he could feel himself slowly rising into awareness. He could hear voices, feel the bed beneath him, and someone's arms propping him up. But no, he didn't want to go because he needed to remember something.

'_Good-bye, Draco. We shall see you when the time is right.'_

'_Wait!'_

He bolted upright, gasping in a breath even as hands reached out to him. He jerked away, still half-asleep, but managing to identify the cluster of people around his bed.

"The hell?" he demanded, just barely remembering to speak in English.

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Harry woke the entire house up at two in the morning. Well, everyone except Fleur and Lukas who were in the shielded living room, but Lukas had wanted to be fed at one, and had woken up both Fleur and Bill. Fleur had gone right back to sleep; Bill hadn't.

After tossing and turning for half an hour, he got up and left for the kitchen to find himself some chamomile tea. That was when he heard the screams.

He ran upstairs, already knowing who they belonged to. Ron and Hermione beat him into Harry's room. Sirius was right behind him.

"Harry! Harry, wake up," Hermione commanded, grabbing Harry's hand. The boy-hero was trembling, eyes squeezed shut.

Sirius brushed by Bill and gently shook his godson, looking pale at the screams. Harry finally did wake up, clamping his mouth on a yell and his hand flying up to the scar on his forehead. Bill could see him gritting his teeth.

Dumbledore was in the room then, as was Arthur and Molly. His mother was trying to tell Ginny to go back to bed, but Ginny pushed her way into the room to stand with Ron and Hermione.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Sirius asked, sitting beside the boy now, reaching one hand out to rub Harry's back as he took a few deep breaths.

"Yeah," said Harry. He swallowed and nodded. "I'm alright."

"What did you see, Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry looked up at the Headmaster, his eyes troubled. "Voldemort took back his Horcrux."

Dumbledore nodded. "It was expected. Come, you look like you could do with a cup of hot chocolate, and then you can tell us what happened."

Harry nodded and Sirius helped him out of bed, giving the boy a jumper to pull on over his pajamas and the troupe started for the stairs. Bill followed, but he stopped when he saw the closed door across from Harry's room.

"Wait," he said. "Draco didn't wake up?"

Ginny and Hermione paused as well.

"Neither did Fred and George," said Ginny. "Or Charlie."

Bill shook his head. "Draco can't sleep through a pin drop and he's right across from Harry."

"Did he shield his room?" asked Hermione.

"He could have," said Bill, staring at the closed door. He stepped closer and reached out, slowly turning the doorknob. It was unlocked and he pushed the door open a crack.

The room was dark, but the beam of light from the hall hit the bed. Bill could just make out Draco's form under the covers.

"I guess he did sleep through it," he whispered back.

"He did look tired today," said Hermione.

Bill nodded, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. When Draco had been sick his sixth year, he stirred even when he had had been pumped full of sleep-aids. Surely he would wake with the door open.

"Draco," he said.

"You're going to wake him up," said Ginny.

"Draco," he called louder, voice growing with apprehension. "Draco!"

There wasn't even the hint of motion.

"Something isn't right," said Bill, throwing the door open the rest of the way. The lights sprang on as he crossed to the bed. He could see Draco now, wearing a loose pair of cotton sweats, facedown on the bed, his arm flung loosely over a pillow.

"Draco!"

Bill was at his bed now, reaching out and shaking him lightly on the shoulder. Draco was unresponsive and for one sick, horrid minute, Bill thought he was dead. He immediately pressed on Draco's neck, searching for and finding his pulse. Now that he was close, he could see that Draco's back was rising and falling, but his breath was quick, strained.

"Draco, wake up, come on," Bill muttered, carefully rolling him over, slapping his face lightly.

Still no response. He turned to the door where Ginny and Hermione were standing, looking at him, waiting for him to tell them what was wrong.

"Get Dumbledore," he ordered. "He's not waking up."

Ginny took off and Bill turned back to Draco, noting that the kid's brow was furrowed, his jaw clenched.

"Damn it, Draco."

He didn't have his wand on him, and he wondered if trying to cast the waking charm was even a good idea. There were footsteps on the stairs; Bill slapped Draco's face again.

"What's happened?" asked Dumbledore, bearing straight for the unconscious boy as those recently awake filtered in as well, wondering what this new drama was.

"He won't wake up."

Dumbledore reached out, feeling Draco's forehead and then pulse. He cast a diagnostic charm and frowned.

"What is it?" Bill asked.

"His magical energy is low." He cast a few more charms, reading Draco's vital signs before pointing his wand at Draco's head. "Ennervate."

Bill could see the spell hit, even causing Draco's head to rock, but it was just motion from the spell. The boy's eyelids didn't so much as flicker.

"Here's the med kit," said Molly, handing Dumbledore a black box. Dumbledore opened it, pulling out the blue vial of the simple waking potion and the yellow used in case of a coma.

"Could you sit him up, William?" asked Dumbledore.

Bill nodded and climbed onto the bed, scooting his arm under Draco's neck and lifting him into a half-reclined position. Dumbledore gently opened his clenched teeth by pressing on the back of his jaw. He poured the potion in and followed it with a swallowing charm.

They stepped back and waited, but Draco remained unconscious, completely limp. Bill turned to Dumbledore, the fear in his eyes.

"I don't know," said Dumbledore, shaking his head. "He appears to be simply sleeping."

"What did you say about his magical signature, though? What about that?"

"It would cause fatigue, but not to this extent." But even as he spoke, his eyebrows knit.

"What?" Bill demanded.

"There have been cases where, when paired with injury, magical exhaustion has created more severe side affects. Sometimes the body shuts down to prevent further wear, but that is all I can think of to match these symptoms."

"But he's recovered," said Bill.

"Maybe not enough," said Dumbledore.

"What happens when the body shuts down?"

Dumbledore looked grave. "It can lead to death."

Bill looked down at the boy in his arms and shook him slightly.

"Draco!" His voice was sharp, worried.

This time the slap even hurt his hand and left a red mark on Draco's cheek.

"Draco, wake up dammit."

He waited, knowing that Draco had to be too stubborn to just slip into a coma. He thought he might have imagined the small flicker of Draco's eyelids. He knew he didn't imagine the slight turn of Draco's head.

"Draco?"

Draco bolted forward, eyes springing open as he sat all the way up, startling the entire room. For a few seconds his eyes fluttered in the bright light, still unfocused from sleep, but then widen at the sight of the onlookers crowded around his bed.

"The hell?"

The words leaving Draco's mouth were the best Bill had heard in a long time. Draco's grey eyes turned to him, the question in them.

"You wouldn't wake up," he said.

Draco blinked, looked around once again, and then looked at the clock.

"And you are awake, because?" He raised an eyebrow as he did that, the faint condescension impossible to miss. Bill gave a breath of relief at that typical Malfoy attitude.

"I had a bad dream," said Harry, speaking up.

"And by dream you mean a vision," said Draco.

"Yeah," said Harry.

"And by vision you must mean that the Dark Lord rejoined with his Horcrux."

"Yeah."

Draco looked at the crowd again, frowning slightly, but then untangled his feet from the covers and got up. And Bill could only stare, along with everyone else, as he crossed to his wardrobe and pulled out a black t-shirt. Of course, most of the other people in the room were staring at the tattoo on his back which was marred by still-pink burn marks, but Draco had gone from almost comatose to showing no signs of illness and the change was startling. Draco pulled the shirt on and then turned to face them all, leaning back against his wardrobe door.

"So I'm assuming this all means that we need to get started tracking the remaining Horcrux," he said, obviously referring to the occupants of his room. He turned to Dumbledore. "If the cup was stolen, like you suspect, then I know a few mathematical equations I can apply to retrace-,"

"No!"

Bill's exclamation was echoed by the entire room and Draco frowned.

"Tell me again why you are all even in my room to begin with?"

"Because you wouldn't wake up," said Bill. "Harry woke up half the house yelling, and you slept right through it. When does that happen?"

"I shield my room," said Draco.

"Not tonight," said Bill. "And even if you did, I've been slapping you for the past five minutes. How did you sleep through that?"

"I slept through it?" Draco asked, reaching up to touch his still-reddened cheek.

"The point is, my boy," said Dumbledore, "that you've worn yourself out. This could be a sign that you've been working to hard and need a break. I don't want you working on any projects for the next few days. You need to rejuvenate."

"Wait a minute," said Draco. "You think that I've worn out my magical aura to the point of a self-initiated coma simply because I, for the first time in my life, am a heavy sleeper?"

"Draco, he used enervate on you," said Bill. "And a waking potion."

That caught Draco off guard for a moment, but then he shrugged it off. "That doesn't mean I'm magically exhausted. There are several other explanations for it."

"Such as?" Bill asked.

And Draco actually hesitated, frowning slightly, as if he was really trying to think of why he didn't wake up, but he couldn't answer. He didn't know either.

"But still," he argued, "simply jumping to the conclusion because nothing else fits is a terrible way to diagnose someone, especially because I am not displaying the side effects of a coma. I'm not shaking; I have lucid thought processes and full speech capabilities and no muscle fatigue."

"But your magical signature is much lower than it should be," said Dumbledore. "You recently recovered from a few harrowing experiences in which you were injured, and you did not stir at the charm or potion. There is no other explanation for it."

"That we know of," said Draco.

"Then all the more reason to be careful," said Dumbledore. "And either way, a cup of hot chocolate would do you good as well before bed."

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So, yes, you read the Author's note right. There will be a fourth story, although I will not write it when this one is finished. Why, because honestly, I don't think I'd be able to do so. I need a break. I will be posting another story in between this one and the fourth, maybe two. I dunno. I have a few story lines lined up.

Well, that's all. Again, no time for replies to reviews. I did start for some of you, but I'm wicked crazy this semester with classes. Insanity. But, I'm relatively free this weekend, so the next chapter should be up on time. I might even get a head start on some more chapters, how cool would that be?


	8. Flirting, Fights, and French

Disclaimer: If I own Harry Potter, I would have a private tutor teach me French so I could stop using those amazing, but inaccurate, automatic translating websites.

Thanks to my amazing reviewers!

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Draco accepted the cup of hot chocolate from Dumbledore with ill-grace, still fuming. Yes, he was feeling a little tired…alright, to be completely honest, he was feeling drained, more so than usual, but it was two in the morning so he had an excuse….again, that wasn't completely true and some of his exhaustion could be attributed to the fact that he was probably overworking, but he had been doing so for years now. He doubted it would suddenly hit him like it had this night. There must be some other cause.

He stared at the dark, steaming liquid, ignoring everyone around him. It was actually rather easy; they were all speaking in whispers, as if afraid to set him off. They read the ice in his expression correctly. At least, all of them but Ginny Weasley.

He didn't look up when she sat across from him with her own mug. He did when a tiny marshmallow glanced off the rim of his cup and fell to the table with the softest of landings.

The youngest Weasley had a collection of marshmallows on the table in front of her. She picked up another and tossed it again. This time the marshmallow landed in his hot chocolate with a tiny splash.

"One point!" she cheered for herself. She ate one in victory and smiled at him.

"Do you mind?" asked Draco.

"Oh, sorry. I thought I was invited to your pity party and I was just trying to liven it up a bit."

"Cute, Weasley." His tone was indication otherwise.

"It's Ginny, remember?"

"The terms were that I would call you Ginny if you left my study because you were bothering me. You're breaking the intent of the contract."

"I asked you to call me Ginny because you were being distant and aloof. Now you're moping and distancing yourself again so I could say the same for you."

"That's stretching it."

She smiled. "Just a little bit. Besides, everyone likes marshmallows."

"And if I said I didn't?"

"You would be lying."

"I'm not."

She stared. "Are you serious?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

"You never look like you're joking."

"Well, I'm not."

"You're not human," she informed him. She took his mug and fished out the marshmallow with her spoon and ate it. "There," she said, giving the mug back to him. "No more marshmallow."

"I appreciate it."

"Don't sound so grateful," said Ginny. "Really, it was no trouble at all."

He rolled his eyes. She tossed a marshmallow into the air and caught it with her mouth. He shook his head and took a sip of his hot chocolate.

"You know," said Ginny, regarding him thoughtfully, "if you want to bitch about how unfair everyone is being, you can go ahead."

"I'm not going to bitch," said Draco.

"I hear it helps."

"You are just like your bother, aren't you?"

"In what sense?"

"The whole talking sense."

"I like to talk," she admitted. "I also like to listen."

"I'm not so much a fan of talking."

"So I've heard."

She giggled at her own pun. The late hour was obviously affecting her, at least, that was what the dark circles on her face was saying. She rubbed her eyes, scrunching her nose as she did so.

"Can't handle the late nights?" he asked.

"Says the boy who nearly fell into a coma from exhaustion."

"I was not in a coma and it wasn't from exhaustion. It's just the only explanation they can think of and certain over-protective and unnecessary concerns have further led to their conclusion and no, that wasn't bitching, so don't go looking so victorious."

She frowned and dropped a few marshmallows in her drink, dunking them under with her spoon.

"It sounded like it."

"It wasn't."

Draco sipped at his hot chocolate, letting his mind wander back to that night. He was still trying to figure out why he hadn't woken up, but nothing was making any sense. He refused to believe that he had worked himself into exhaustion. Yes, he had been pushing himself for the past, well, for the past few years, but that shouldn't have sent him into a coma. There was another answer for it; he knew there was. He just had to find it.

"Draco," said Bill.

Draco turned. "What?" he asked, his voice cold.

"Stop thinking so hard. That's what got you in trouble to start with."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm going to bed," he said, sliding his chair back.

"Straight to bed. No working on any of your projects," said Bill.

"If you have trouble sleeping, there's some sleep-aid in the bathroom cabinet," said Dumbledore.

Draco didn't deign to answer because he might end up letting loose a few profanities. He did shoot them a cold glare, the kind that he usually reserved for his Slytherins when they dared to step over the line. Bill just gave him a comforting smile and Dumbledore twinkled.

Draco wondered if the glare was ineffective because they knew him so well, or if because it only worked on Slytherins. Maybe a bit a both. It could also have been impeded by the fact that he was in pajamas.

He cleaned his teeth again and then made sure to ward his door. He turned off the lights and crawled into bed, turning his mind to any reason he might have slept so hard. There must be something he was missing; something they were all missing. He felt as if the answer was just out of reach, just out of memory, and that frustrated him beyond measure.

Normally he would be able to keep himself awake to puzzle things out further, but he really was tired…alright, exhausted and worn to be completely accurate. He briefly wondered if maybe they were right. He fell asleep, soundly.

He woke up at eight-thirty. Usually he was downstairs by seven, so he must have been tired. He took a quick shower and changed into clean clothes before wandering down to the dining room.

Bill was reading the paper and eating breakfast with Sirius and Kingsley. The living room door was open and Draco could see Charlie holding his nephew and Mrs. Weasley giving Fleur her breakfast.

"Draco, what are you doing up?" Bill asked.

"Am I not allowed now?" asked Draco, perhaps a little snidely.

Kingsley snorted.

"I meant it's a little early," said Bill.

"It's nine," said Draco.

"Precisely my point."

Draco rolled his eyes and pulled out a chair to sit. There was a pot of coffee on the table, but he skipped over it in favor of the carafe of hot water and Earl Grey tea leaves. He didn't like to drink coffee too many days in a row; addictions were prevalent in his family.

"There's breakfast on the stove," said Bill. "Want me to get you a plate?"

"I don't suppose you'll trust me to get my own?"

"Not really," said Bill, getting up, "besides, you need to take it easy."

Draco rolled his eyes yet again. He had a feeling the next few days would prove to be quite trying and the thought of returning to his apartment was attractive.

"Most kids your age would be ecstatic," said Kingsley.

"I'm not even going to begin to respond to that," said Draco.

The Auror shrugged. "Maybe you could try acting your age today."

"By age I assume you are referring to the social activities that the typical seventh year student engages in and I won't comment that physical age, in some medical opinions, does very little in the developmental processes. It is only through age-related expectations and a uniform schooling program that causes children of the same age to act similarly. While brain development does play a role, in this case, nurture wins over nature."

"You just did comment, though," said Sirius. "You said you weren't going to."

"Does no one appreciate the art of sarcasm?" asked Draco. "I am being forced to spend an entire day with you people. The least you can do is try to keep up."

Kingsley laughed and Sirius grinned. Draco scowled and Bill came back in with Draco's breakfast, the plate heaping with bacon, fried eggs, sausage, toast, and baked beans. He set it in front of Draco who frowned.

"I'm not eating all of this," he said.

"Try," said Bill.

"Do you have any concept of fat or cholesterol?"

"Are you watching your weight?"

"No."

"Then why do you care?"

"Because I'd rather not die at the age of twenty-five from a clogged artery."

"It's not going to kill you."

"You can't say that for certain."

"Everyone eats this for breakfast."

"Don't be ridiculous."

Draco watch Bill take in a breath and then release it.

"Fine, a fair amount of people eat eggs and sausage and toast for breakfast."

"And a fair amount of people die each year from unhealthy dieting."

"Draco," said Bill, very deliberately. "You. Are. Skinny. If anything, you could use a little fat. Eat your breakfast. All of it."

Draco looked down at his plate, wondering if it was even possible to put all of that into his stomach. He looked back up.

"I'll eat all of it if you let me work on a project today."

"How about this. You eat all your breakfast, and you take it easy today so you don't slip into another coma."

"It wasn't a coma."

"Draco, are you just being difficult because I actually care about your health?"

"There's caring and then there's paranoia."

Bill sighed and sat heavily in his chair. Draco sighed and picked up his fork. He didn't eat it all, but he ate a good bit of it. When he got up to leave, Bill ordered him away from his study and Draco didn't bother arguing. He didn't want to aggravate Bill because he figured if he didn't complain all that much, Bill would be much more receptive to letting him work tomorrow. Besides, he didn't need his study to work.

He did need his copy of _Hogwarts: A Dark History_.

After informing Bill, coolly, that he was being overly-protective and extremely trying, but without making too much of a fuss, he walked back upstairs to get his book. He was already paging through the book in his mind, and so he nearly walked straight into Ginny Weasley.

"Oh, sorry," he said, pulling up shortly and then staring.

She was coming from the bathroom. Her hair was wet, but still curling and it had darkened to an auburn, falling over her bare shoulders. She was just wearing a towel, wrapped around her chest and falling to upper-thigh. He looked away, but her image was already burned into memory.

"Sorry," he said again, trying to step around her, but she tried stepping out of his way as well and they ended up face-to-face again. He stepped to the other side, so did she. She laughed.

Draco stepped once more to the side, but this time she blocked him deliberately.

"Oh, come on," she said, obviously finding this situation humorous. "Don't be such a prude."

"What?" he asked, forcing himself to look over her shoulder.

"Like you've never seen a girl in a towel before. Stop acting like a sheltered second-year."

"I'm not acting like a second year."

"You're not looking at me."

"Do you want me to look at you while you're just in a towel?"

"You've seen naked women before. I don't see while you're trying to be all polite and gentlemanly."

Draco was confused and he turned his gaze to her face, trying to gauge her thoughts. Her hazel eyes were light, but also a little annoyed. That just confused him further.

"Alright, Weasley-,"

"Ginny."

"Ginny," he corrected. "I'm completely lost. Congratulations. Now can I please get by before your brothers' hex me for even being in the same house as you when you're just wearing a towel?"

"So that's why you're being polite?" she asked. "Because of my brothers?"

"Yes, whatever, does that satisfy?"

"No," she said.

He tried walking around her again, but she stepped in front of him. She took a step forward. He backed up and she frowned.

"What is it?"

"What is what?" he asked intelligently.

"What is your reasoning for acting like such a prude?"

Her question was loud. Ron had opened his door right at her exclamation and he was obviously going downstairs for breakfast. He stopped at his sister's question and frowned.

"What is going on here?" he asked.

"Draco's being a prude," said Ginny, crossing her arms. It tugged down the towel just a bit and Draco steadfastly looked to Ron.

"All I want to do is go to my room to get a book and your sister is going on about some nonsense I can't even begin to comprehend."

"Gin, why are you even talking to Malfoy in a towel?" asked Ron. "Go get some clothes on. You're indecent."

"Way to make it sound like I'm promiscuous. Really, I appreciate it," said Ginny.

"You're in a towel!" said Ron, absolutely scandalized. "There are men in this house!"

"It doesn't matter," said Ginny. "They're not even looking."

"And he shouldn't or I swear I will hex his eyes out."

"I'm not looking!" Draco protested. "I just want to get my book."

"Who's looking at what?" asked Fred, appearing in the hall from the stairs leading down from the third floor.

He was followed by George and they both froze when they saw their little sister in a towel in front of Draco. Of one accord they started forward.

"What is going in here?" Fred demanded.

"Malfoy, I swear, if you're doing anything inappropriate-," began George.

"We will not hesitate to curse your balls off," Fred finished.

"You people are insane," said Draco. "I am just trying to get my book from my room which is right there, down the hall."

"What are you doing with our sister?" asked George.

"She stopped me!"

"Ginny, get some clothes on for Merlin's sake," Ron pleaded.

"Well don't make it sound like I'm naked," said Ginny.

"Ginevra!"

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. He was getting a headache.

"Can I get by or not?" he asked.

"What's stopping you?" asked George.

"She is," said Draco.

Wrong thing to say. The twins' eyes narrowed, taking on a very deadly look.

"No, not like that," said Draco, trying to amend his statement.

"Not like what exactly?" asked Fred.

"Fred, George, relax," said Ginny. "He's not being inappropriate. In fact, he's being annoyingly polite."

The twins looked as if they didn't believe her defense of Draco.

"Seriously," she insisted. "Apparently I'm not as attractive as I thought."

Fred and George frowned again.

"Did he say you were ugly?" asked Fred to Ginny.

"Did you say she was ugly?" asked George to Draco.

"What?" asked Draco. "No."

"Could have fooled me," said Ginny.

Draco stared at her, and then at the twins and then finally at Ron who looked just as confused as he did. He turned to Ginny.

"I did not say you were ugly."

"Not in so many words."

"How, in the name of Merlin, did you even jump to that conclusion?"

She shrugged. Damn, he wished she would stop doing that. Eyes are wired to be attracted to motion and he was finding it difficult enough keeping his eyes from roaming.

"Aren't you supposed to be a genius?" she asked. "You figure it out."

"Look here, ferret," said Fred. "You do not call-,"

"Or imply," said George.

"That our sister is ugly," Fred finished.

"I don't think she's ugly," said Draco.

"Then why does she think that you think she is?"

Draco turned to Ginny who was watching him with raised eyebrows.

"I don't think you're ugly," he said.

"But you don't think I'm pretty."

"I didn't say that."

"You just said I'm not ugly. That doesn't mean I'm good looking."

Draco took a breath and released it. "Fine," he said. "I think that you are pretty."

"Way to flatter a girl," said Ginny, brushing by him to walk to her room.

Fred and George both glared at him. He rolled his eyes and turned to the towel-clad girl.

"You are," he said. "You're a very attractive girl."

She stopped by her door and turned. "You really think so?" she asked innocently.

"Yes, really," he said.

She grinned. "Thanks."

She disappeared into her room and the door swung shut. Draco looked to the Weasley twins, but they were still glaring.

"You think our baby sister is attractive?" Fred asked.

"We'll be watching you, Malfoy," George warned.

The two walked down the hall, but not before purposefully knocking him aside. Draco stared after them before looking to Ron.

"What the hell was that?" Draco demanded, hoping that the Weasley would be able to explain it to him.

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Mate," he said, "my sister was totally playing you." He was half-impressed, half-disturbed.

Draco blinked. "She _what_?"

"Yeah," said Ron. He looked to Ginny's room and then back to Draco, looking completely disconcerted now. "I think she was flirting with you too."

Draco could feel his face go blank and he wondered if he was gaping.

"Yeah," said Ron, shifting about uncomfortably. "Well, I hafta…you know." He jerked his head towards the stairs and shuffled off.

Draco walked to his room and nearly yanked the door open. He stepped through, closed the door, and then leaned against it, trying to comprehend exactly what had just happened. Ginny Weasley was flirting with him?

Suddenly it all made sense, her teasing, always smiling at him, following him around. The only question he had was why?

Now that he thought about, she had been flirting with him all the way back in the school year, when she had asked him to the school dance, and that time when he had come back after meeting with Pansy. Shit, she had been flirting with him when he had been with Pansy. For some reason, the thought was discomfiting and he was slightly embarrassed.

'But why should he be?' he argued with himself. It wasn't as if he liked her, now did he?

He waited for the denial to rise up in mind, but it didn't. He felt chilled at the lack of a negative answer, suddenly overwhelmed and apprehensive. He slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor with the alarming knowledge that he might be interested in none other than Ginevra Weasley.

"This is ridiculous," he said softly, the words coming out 'Ceci est ridicule.' because he had a habit of lapsing back into French when he was stressed.

He did not fall for her sort of girl. He was a Slytherin. He was cold, he was aloof, he was logical. Why then, was Ginny Weasley so attractive?

Of course, that was it. She was just a pretty girl and he was a teenaged boy; that was it. He was going through a stressful time, which put him on edge, and he was confusing the strain for sexual tension. She used to like, still might like, Harry Potter. Maybe she was flirting with him just because she needed a distraction. Yes, that was it.

He ignored the fact that his stomach twisted when he thought of Ginny with Harry.

He let out a breath and stood up, finding his book in his trunk and then leaving his room. He wondered if it was just a cruelty on Fate's part that Ginny stepped out of her room at the same time. He had a suspicion she was waiting for him.

She smiled at him.

"See, I'm dressed now," she said. "You don't have to avert your eyes this time."

Draco ignored her and just walked to the stairs. She followed him.

"What are you reading?" she asked.

"Do you really care?" he asked, his voice coming out far too wearily for his liking.

"Yes."

He rolled his eyes, but she couldn't see him. "A book."

He could picture her own eye roll. He then felt her hands on his shoulder, trying to peer over him to see the book. He stopped and turned around on the stairs. She was one step above him and so they were eye-to-eye.

"Weasley, stop it," he said, completely seriously.

"Stop what?" she asked, frowning slightly but also becoming sober.

"Stop flirting with me."

He could see that he had taken her aback. She frowned further, her brows knitting and her eyes darkening.

"Why?" she finally asked.

"Why?" he reiterated. "Because it's annoying and distracting. I don't like you and you don't like me, so just lay off. I get that you're bored, and I can understand that, but it's getting old so just stop, alright?"

"You think that I'm flirting because I'm bored, or because I can't flirt with Harry anymore so I'm using you as a substitute, is that it?" she asked. She was surprisingly perceptive.

"Exactly," said Draco.

She laughed at him. "I was over Harry last year. Completely over him."

"So find something to amuse yourself and stop using me."

"You honestly think that I'm just bored," said Ginny. "Huh, I thought you would have given yourself more credit."

"I know that girls flirt with me," said Draco. "But not girls like you."

"Girls like me."

"Good girls," he clarified. "Gryffindors and Dumbledore lovers and all that."

"So we're just not attracted to you?"

"You understand that I'm not the type to pursue a relationship with, and I know I'm not."

"That's awfully stereotypical of you."

"Most stereotypes are based on truths."

"Well, you're wrong."

"About stereotypes?"

"Yes, and about me flirting with you because I'm bored."

"Well why else would you?"

"You really don't get it, do you?" she asked.

"Get what?"

She smiled and shrugged. "I'm not that much of a good girl."

He understood that and he stared. Was she honestly admitting that she was flirting with him because she liked him?

She smiled at his stunned expression and walked by him. He turned as well.

"Believe me, Weasley, you are," he called after her, trying to convince her that she really didn't like him.

She turned around and laughed at him, before disappearing into the dining room. Draco didn't follow.

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Bill honestly tried to keep Draco, if not happy, at least entertained during the day, but Draco was refusing to participate in anything that he suggested. He spent the majority of the day in the drawing room, where the rest of the teens were, but instead of participating in their games or conversations, he simply sat on the sofa and read _Hogwarts: A Dark History_.

Bill couldn't exactly accuse him of doing any work because he was re-reading a tome he probably had memorized, but still, taking it easy to Bill meant hanging around the house with people, and not glaring every time someone interrupted his reading. He had to admit, though, that he wasn't a teenaged genius, and so maybe this was Draco's way of laying back.

It wasn't until dinner that he realized what Draco was actually doing.

He had gone up to the third floor drawing room to collect the teens for dinner. The Gryffindor students were finishing a heated game of Exploding-Snap and so Bill wandered over to where Draco was sitting on the couch, still reading.

"Hungry?" he asked conversationally.

Draco didn't answer and Bill assumed he was getting the silent treatment. He suppressed a groan of frustration and plucked the book from Draco's hands. The boy looked up, startled.

"Dinner," said Bill, jerking his head to the door.

"Come on, Draco," said Harry, getting up from the table. "It has to be more interesting than the novel, huh?"

"I wouldn't bet on it," said Draco, but he followed the teens out and Bill looked down at the book in his hands. It was still open and so he flipped it over, wondering what Draco was reading about. He should have known not to trust a Slytherin.

The chapter detailed the founders of Hogwarts and the page Draco was on was specifically dedicated the artifacts left by each and the legend surrounding them. The top of the page was folded down and Bill flipped through the book, finding several other sections that were marked as well, all of them mentioning Hufflepuff's cup.

Bill swore. Draco wasn't resting; he was trying to find Voldemort's Horcrux. He hadn't been giving Bill the silent treatment, he had been so involved in the book he hadn't registered Bill's presence. Bill marched down the stairs, finding the family at the table, passing dishes.

"Draco," he said, getting everyone's attention, but he didn't care. "What is this?" He held up the book.

Draco's eyes flickered from his face to the pages and then back again.

"I was reading," he said, shrugging.

"You weren't bloody reading," said Bill. "You were reading about the Horcrux! You were trying to track it, weren't you?"

For a moment he wondered if Draco wasn't going to answer but then the boy shrugged again.

"Somebody had too," he said.

"Unbelievable," said Bill. "You pass out from exhaustion and you go right back to working. Do you care at all if you slip into a real coma this time?"

Draco didn't answer. He took a sip of his pumpkin juice.

"Damn it, Draco. I have a right to be worried and this isn't helping!" said Bill, dropping the book onto the table in front of him.

"I was just looking into it, that was all."

"I told you to take it easy today. I told you no working."

"And you're not my mother."

"You're right," said Bill. "I'm not. I actually give a shit about what happens to you."

He suddenly realized how that sounded and he mentally braced himself, but Draco seemed to understand the point he was trying to make because he flinched, but let the comment slide.

"Bill, I'm seventeen. I can take care of myself. You and everyone else are just overreacting."

"No, we're not," said Bill.

"You can't just expect that I'm going to be able to drop everything I'm working on. I can't just…sit around and do nothing."

"You haven't even tried."

"I nearly went insane today just reading."

"And tomorrow you won't even be doing that. I meant what I said. You need to recuperate."

"You're being ridiculous."

"I'm worried."

"Get over it."

Bill stared. "Get over it?" he asked. "Draco, you can't expect me to let you work yourself to death. I'm sorry if that frustrates you, but I want you to take tomorrow off, and the next day as well if you have to."

"Absolutely not."

"That wasn't a request."

"Fine," said Draco. He got up from the table.

"Where are you going?" asked Bill.

"I'm leaving," said Draco. "What did you think?"

"You can't just walk out."

"I'm going to."

"Draco, you're sick."

"I am not sick!" Draco exclaimed. "Nor am I overworking myself. Yes, something happened last night but I would know if I was in danger of overexerting myself."

"Like you knew a month ago? When Severus had to drug you?"

"That was different. I was under a time constraint."

"So you don't feel any pressure then? Trying to find Voldemort's Horcrux first?"

Draco hesitated.

"Exactly my point," said Bill. "We have people working on the cup. You are going to give it a rest."

"Let me work on something else then."

Bill groaned in exasperation. "You don't get it, do you?"

"Because you're not making any sense! I don't need you to save me from myself."

"That hasn't always been true," said Bill.

Draco glared. "I'm leaving."

"No, you're not," said Bill.

"You can't stop me."

"I'll get Pomfrey to sign a medical paper."

"You wouldn't."

"Don't try me."

"Well then I'll see you in court, won't I?"

Draco spun around on his heel, heading to the stairs. Bill groaned again.

"Draco. Draco!"

Draco turned, his expression still set.

"Merde, Bill," he said, his hands clenched. "Je suis adulte, pas votre enfant. J'ai un appartement, se rappeler? Ceci était juste une expérience, une expérience folle, et il n'a pas travaillé. Il y a trop ici, trop de bruit, trop de gens. Je ne peux pas vous tous faire face à ; j'ai besoin de mon travail pour me garder sain d'esprit.

It took a Bill a second to realize that Draco had lapsed into French, something which only happened when the boy was entirely upset. Bill had married a French woman though so he could translate. _I am an adult, not your child. I have an apartment, remember? This was just an experiment, a crazy experiment, and it didn't work._ _There's too much here, too much noise, too many people. I can't cope with all of you; I need my work to keep me sane._

"Je suis désolé, mais cela est comment il travaille. Cela est comment je travaille," Draco finished. _I'm sorry, but that is how it works. That's how I work._

Draco stared at him, as if wondering if he would understand.

"Je comprends," said Bill, affirming that he did.

Draco frowned, as if wondering why he was speaking French, but then he must have guessed the answer.

"Merde," he muttered again, his hand rising to run through his hair even as his cheeks turned a decided shade of pink.

Bill gave him a quick smile. "We'll figure something out, alright? Not the Horcrux, just yet, but we'll work through it."

Draco let out a breath but nodded. "Alright."

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The French is taken from a website, so I'm sorry if it's inaccurate. There's much more D/G on the way, so get excited (and leave a review, please and thank you)!


	9. Kisses

Disclaimer: Ummm, yeah right.

A/N: So, thank you so much for all of the French translations I received. I will be fixing my horrid attempt at French….tomorrow. I'm already an hour over the deadline (meaning it's one in the morning) and I still have some homework to do for tomorrow's classes. So, farewell, I hope you like it.

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"Mail," said Kingsley as Draco came down for breakfast.

Draco took the letter and sat at the table, helping himself to cereal and yogurt and then making a cup of tea. Once it was fixed he opened the envelope.

The letter was from Laney and Sam, discussing Christmas plans and telling him about their new home. Draco skimmed it once for bad news, but finding none, he went back and read it more carefully.

Sirius was reading his own letter and Kingsley had the paper. Draco only took note of the other men when Sirius set the letter down and Draco caught a glimpse of a round script in a dark blue ink. The same that was on his message.

"Why is my aunt writing to you?" he asked, his voice going cold.

Sirius looked up, looked back at his letter, and flushed. Kingsley put his paper down, raising his eyebrows as he settled in for a fight.

"She was, uh, she was just…asking how you were," said Sirius.

"Asking how I was," said Draco.

"Yes," said Sirius. He ran a hand through his hair. "Alright, so that was just a part of it. A tiny part. We may have…hit it off while you were in the hospital."

Draco raised an eyebrow as he filtered in that information.

"Black," he said. "I realize that you are a grown man and that my aunt is a grown woman, but I swear if you hurt her, I will kill you, slowly and painfully, and they won't find your body for several years."

Sirius nodded hurriedly. Draco turned back to his breakfast, but he saw Sirius look to Kingsley out of the corner of his eye.

"Now you know who killed me, should I ever disappear."

"I doubt we could prove anything," said Kingsley.

Draco smirked and finished his breakfast.

Bill came in when he was about done. Draco was relieved that Bill seemed to recognize the fact that Draco was an adult now because he only asked if Draco had slept well and accepted his answer.

"I get it from my mother," said Bill a while later, when they were bent over the Persian Runes in Draco's study.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"The whole worrying thing," said Bill. "I'm also an older sibling and a new father. I deserve to be forgiven for being overly concerned."

Draco snorted. "I'm a Malfoy. I don't forgive."

Bill rolled his eyes. "Arrogant snot."

"Yes," Draco agreed.

Bill chucked his quill at him and Draco's lips twitched.

There was a knock on the door and then it opened. Harry stepped in.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?"

"Completely lost my train of thought," said Draco.

"I'm sorry," said Harry. "I can come back in-,"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Sarcasm, Potter. Learn it."

"Oh," said Harry. He came in further and held out a journal. "This is for you."

Draco looked at the book. "Why are you giving me your diary?"

"It's not," said Harry, putting it down on the table when Draco wouldn't take it.

"Then what is it?"

"You know," said Bill. "You could just open it and find out and not give Harry such a hard time."

"Where's the fun in that?" asked Draco, but he flipped open the cover.

There was a list of words on the left. One the right was a list of nonsense syllables with an inordinate amount of 's's.

"They're spelled phonetically," said Harry. "If you point your wand at a word, you can hear it."

Draco flipped through the pages, finding that there were sentences in the back.

"Potter, you do realize that no one has successfully learned Parseltongue?"

"Is that going to stop you from trying?" asked Harry.

"Not at all," said Draco. "But why-?"

"For getting Sirius back," said Harry. "I told you I was going to say 'thank you' in a way that you couldn't refuse, so there it is."

Draco looked up at the boy hero. "You're welcome," he said. "Hermione helped you on this, didn't she?"

"How'd you know?" asked Harry.

"You said 'phonetically'."

"She showed be how to set the charms," Harry affirmed. "Have fun with it, and let me know if you need any help."

He gave a quick smile in parting and left. Draco turned to the first page of journal, wondering exactly how the combination of 'slres' was possible. He read down the list.

"Should we call it quits on the runes today and let you play with your new toy?" asked Bill.

"We can keep going," said Draco, reluctant to put the book away, but not wanting to throw Bill out. He skimmed over the rest of the list as he shut the book, committing their spellings to memory.

Bill laughed. "You work on your Parseltongue, Draco. Besides, I should go rescue Fleur from Lukas. He's been a little cranky lately."

"He was born a few days ago. How is that lately?"

"Don't get technical on me," said Bill. "Else I'll make you baby-sit one day." He got up from the table. "Lunch is a twelve. Will I have to fetch you?"

"I'll be there," said Draco.

"Holding you to that," said Bill, and then he left.

Draco did go to lunch, a small affair because most of the teens left to go Christmas shopping, but as soon as he was done he went straight back to his study. The snake-speak was difficult, relying mostly on sounds that involved movement of the tongue. The lack of lip-movement was frustrating as well and Draco had a hard time stopping himself from enunciating by rounding his lips. Still, he was determined to succeed and spent most of the afternoon on the first page.

The door opened sometime before dinner and Ginny stepped in, much to his annoyance. Then he saw what she was wearing, a low-cut, forest green tank top. Her pink bra straps were clearly visible and Draco had to force himself to look down.

"Can you leave?" he asked.

"I could," she said.

"Will you?"

"Probably not."

"_Why_ not?"

She smiled at him. "Don't play coy, Draco. It doesn't suit you."

She was obviously referring to their little chat on the stairs. Draco decided to attack the subject head on.

"Weasley, I don't care if you think you have some absurd liking for me, nothing is going to happen. You are wasting your time. Go find someone else to bother."

She tilted her head to the side, causing her loose hair to tumble over her bare shoulders. He clenched his jaw.

"Are you really not that interested?" she asked.

"Yes," said Draco, a tad too quickly.

"Liar," she said, her smile growing.

Draco swore under his breath, his fingers reverting to their 1-3-2-4 pattern. How to deal with a love-struck Weasley?

"It doesn't matter if I'm interested or not," he argued.

"How does it not matter?"

"Because this…," he searched for a word, gave up, and just gestured between them, "is ridiculous."

"I like you," said Ginny. "You are interested in me. How is that ridiculous?"

"Because you're a bloody Weasley."

"Oh, I forgot," said Ginny. "I'm a 'good girl'. I can't possibly like you." She rolled her eyes. "Please, Draco, you're not as 'bad boy' as you would like to think. You're part of the Order now and you've saved nearly half of my family, including me. I fail to see how that puts you in such an unattainable category."

"I'm not talking about political views," said Draco. "I'm talking character flaws. I don't date your type of girl. I date girls who drink underage, who wear too-tight clothes, who don't have a problem with having sex after the first date, and who are going to be gone in two weeks or less. How does that make us compatible?"

"You can't honestly tell me that you want to continue dating that type of girl," said Ginny.

"Why not?" asked Draco.

"Because I don't think you like the idea of having your ex-girlfriends going out and sleeping with half a dozen other guys. I think you want to have a relationship where a girl is committed to you and where you are committed to her."

"How do you come to that conclusion?" asked Draco.

"Because you seem like the possessive type."

"I'm not possessive."

"Probably not, but that doesn't mean you wouldn't be if you had less self-control. I'm assuming it has to do with growing up as a Malfoy. I know about your mother; Blaise told me."

"Did he now?" asked Draco, raising an eyebrow. He would have to remember to speak to the black-haired boy; a few threats should put him back into place.

"He also told me about your father, and that he won't get a divorce."

"This conversation is over," said Draco, closing the Parseltongue journal with a snap and standing to leave. Ginny blocked him. He was taller than her, and his line of sight included a vantage point down her tank-top. He looked her in the eyes.

"Move."

"No," said Ginny. "Why won't you date me?"

"You know why. There are a thousand reasons not and you know them all, but most of all, because you don't want to get involved with me."

"Would you stop telling me what I do and don't want?" Ginny demanded. "I am not a child who does not know her own mind. I am quite aware what dating you would entail, don't insult me by assuming that I do not know the consequences."

"You're dismissing the consequences without even thinking of them. You're a silly little girl who still believes in romantic nonsense."

"Since when is romance nonsense?"

"Since you think that you want to date me."

"Why are you being so hard on yourself?"

"Because you are only seeing the Draco Malfoy who decided to defect from the Dark Lord. I'm still a Slytherin; I'm still a Malfoy."

"I know that."

"No, _Ginny_," he said. "You don't and you honestly don't know what you would be getting yourself into by dating me. Do us both a favor and forget that we even had this conversation."

He tried to step by her but she blocked his way, a hand on his chest. He looked down, not knowing she would be so daring.

"You don't think I can handle you?" she asked, her voice incredulous.

"I'm trying to save your Gryffindor virtue. Be grateful."

Her eyes practically sparked and she stepped up close. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips parted. He tried so hard not to look at her mouth, not to look towards the décolleté green tank and the soft ivory skin it exposed. She noticed his struggle.

"Stop looking for excuses," she said, her voice a whisper, almost husky.

She didn't get it. She didn't understand that men like him would look at her and plunge right ahead. He was a Malfoy and he knew the art of seduction. He could sway a girl from unwilling to pulling her own clothes off. He would never do that to Ginny, of course, but he only had so much control. He didn't know if he could exercise that control, and that was what really scared him.

The idea that one girl could make him fear for his self-control was terrifying. Draco knew what he could and could not handle. If he did get to that point, to the point where Ginny could snap that control, she would have far too much power over him. Look at Lucius; he couldn't live like that.

Besides, he was doing her a favor, warning her away. She was a Weasley and needed a fellow Gryffindor. He immediately banished the thought. She was too quick for a housemate and had a few too many Slytherin tendencies. Ravenclaw would suit her well.

He looked down at her.

"I really am trying to help you," he said.

She bit her lower lip, sending him a small smile that nearly broke his resolve.

"Damn it, Weasley," he muttered under his breath, but she heard.

"Do you want to kiss me?" she asked, tilting her head up to him.

"No." He only just managed the word without his voice catching.

"Liar."

"You just don't get it," he forced out.

"Show me then," she said.

He told himself he was showing her just to make her understand. He wasn't going to enjoy this at all. He lied.

"Fine," he half-snarled.

He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her closer, dropping his mouth onto hers and delving past her surprised, open lips. Merlin, her lips were soft. She was startled, frozen, for a second, but then she returned the kiss, moving against him, and it was too much, too intimate. He needed her to understand, not indulge himself.

He angled away from her mouth and she gave a small groan of protest, but then he kissed his way down her neck and her head dropped back. She melted in his arms, only held upright because she was clutching onto his shirt and because his arms snaked around her back, pressing her even further into him.

All women had erogenous zones on their necks. Draco had yet to find one who didn't and he discovered Ginny's towards the base of her neck, right where a vampire would feed. She gasped when he lightly sucked at the skin there. He ran his hands along her arms, making her shiver, tremble against him, lips parted, reddened from his kiss. He wanted to taste her lips again; he didn't let himself.

"Want me to stop?" he asked, lips still against her neck, hands running up her bare shoulders and burying his fingers in her hair, massaging her head, hitting all of the right pressure points.

"Mmhh?" she asked, her voice breathy.

He turned his attention to the rest of her neck, sucking his way up to her jaw, but not hard enough to leave a mark.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked again, in between kisses.

"No, don't," she said.

He sucked at that spot on the other side of her neck, keeping her completely distracted as his fingers trailed from her head, to her bare back, to the top of her tank that just barely covered the back fastener on her bra. He trailed his mouth down to her collarbone and she arched against him. It was too easy to unclasp her bra.

"You sure?" he asked, ghosting his fingers up her arms. She shivered again and he returned his lips to her neck, biting lightly and her gasp was actually voice.

"Ginny," he said, now moving his lips to tug at her ear. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" she gasped as he licked the outer shell of her ear before tugging again at her earlobe.

He found the silky bra straps on her shoulders and slowly slid them down her arms. He walked her backwards to the wall, bending her elbows by grabbing at her hands. He kissed her on the mouth this time, but only so he could pull the straps over her bent arms. He slipped a hand around her waist, trying not to notice how smooth her skin was, or the heat that radiated off her, and slipped it under her tank. He let his fingers dance along her spine, ground his hips against hers, and deepened the kiss, running his tongue along hers before sucking on her lower lip. With his free hand, he pulled her bra completely out from her shirt. He wondered how badly he was going to hate himself.

"Do you want to stop?" he asked, stepping back but keeping her against the wall.

"Why do you keep asking?"

He smirked, cruelly. "Because if I had known how easy you were going to be, I would have dated you back in school."

He held up her bra and she stared at it for a moment before flushing, looking down at her shirt and crossing her arms over her chest. He had already seen though. Her tank was thin; the outline of her breasts was perfectly clear and he remembered everything he saw. She was gorgeous; he wished he hadn't looked.

He raised an eyebrow at her as she went from mortified to angry.

"How dare you," she said.

"I asked if you wanted to stop, Weasley. Don't blame this one on me."

She opened her mouth, closed it, and then blinked. She blinked again, clenching her jaw, and, to his horror, tears caught in her lashes. He had made her cry.

"Do you get it now?" he asked, twisting his voice into a cold, mocking tone.

She didn't answer. Draco wondered if she was even hearing him because she wasn't looking him in the face, but staring at the floor, arms still across her chest and still blinking away tears. She swallowed hard.

"Can I have my bra, please?" she asked. Her voice didn't tremble, but her words were soft.

He tossed the pink undergarment at her, but she wasn't looking his way. It hit the wood floor and lay there.

"Get yourself dressed before you leave," he said, his voice still cruel. He grabbed his papers and left quickly, shutting the door behind him. He went straight for the stairs, grateful that no one appeared to be around. He almost ran into his room and shut his door quietly. He locked it with every charm he could think of and then sank down on the floor, hating himself and getting angry with the fact that he felt so guilty.

He spent the hour until dinner in self-revulsion. He tried to stop it, tried to concentrate on the journal, but ended up sitting on the floor and staring at the wall while his fingers tapped out their pattern.

He went down to dinner, only because he had to pretend that nothing had happened. Ginny wasn't there. She told her mother she wasn't feeling well.

Draco went back to his study after dinner, staring at the spot where he had backed her against the wall before turning back to his work. He was protecting her, and sometimes the lessons had to hurt.

He memorized the next four pages of spelling, only interrupted when Bill reminded him to get some sleep that night. He nodded and spent the next two hours listening to the varied pronunciations of 'slusc' and 'sluss'.

The door opened and he looked up, startled to see Ginny in the doorway. She had changed out of her tank top and into a t-shirt that clung in all the right places. Hadn't he scared her off?

"What are you?" he asked. "Incredibly dense or did you just decide that you do want a quick shag? I'm sorry, but I don't screw Weasleys."

Ginny was not daunted. "Oh, come off it. Don't think I haven't realized what you were doing. You're not going to scare me off."

"You looked pretty scared earlier today," said Draco, looking back down at his work.

Ginny stepped forward. "That doesn't mean you weren't as well."

Draco turned his eyes heavenward, pretending that she hadn't hit close to the mark. He took a breath and slowly released it, like he was trying to remain patient when, in all actuality, he didn't know what to say.

"Look, Weasley," he said, staring her directly in the eyes. "I've made it perfectly clear that a relationship between us is absurd and that you really don't want to date a guy like me, so can you please give it a rest?"

"And I've told you to stop deciding for me. You don't know what I'm thinking, or what I'm feeling, so don't presume to have my every answer. The fact is you did a good job of scaring me off, congratulations, but I never stay scared for long."

She should stay scared. Damn girl had no common sense. He glared.

"Do you have a point?"

"Yes," said Ginny. "I was getting there."

"Then get there. I don't have all night."

"Fine," said Ginny. "You pushed me away."

Draco furrowed his brows, as if confused. "I what?"

"You made sure that I wasn't going to push the point of dating you anymore. Why?"

"Hmm. That's a tough one. Maybe it's because I don't want to date you? Did you ever think of that?"

"Then why did you kiss me?"

Because she was driving him insane, that's why.

"Maybe you missed the entire object lesson," he said. "Dating guys like me will only end one way: you get in over your head and do things you don't necessarily want to do."

"Please," said Ginny. "If you really weren't interested you would have found another way to tell me. Heck, you would have told Bill to keep me away, but you didn't."

"You're reading far too much in the matter. I didn't tell Bill because I thought you would get the hint."

"You went to the dance with me."

"Because you wouldn't let me say no!"

"But you could have said no. And you think I'm attractive."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, I think you're attractive. You know what, Granger isn't half-bad to look at. Doesn't mean I like her."

"But you aren't attracted to her. Attractive connotes an attraction of some sort."

"It also doesn't mean I like you."

"But you do," said Ginny. "Admit it."

"I refuse to have this conversation with you."

Draco got to his feet, wanting to leave the room. Ginny stopped him.

"The last time you did that, things didn't exactly end well," said Draco. His voice was cool.

"I'm wearing a front-clasp this time, so don't even try," said Ginny, smiling a bit. "I know what you were thinking when you kissed me."

"No, you really don't," said Draco.

"Fine, tell me how close I am then. I don't believe for one minute that you are a guy who would lose control. I also don't believe that you would seduce me."

"Lis-," Draco started, but Ginny raised a hand to his mouth and his eyebrows rose fractionally, trying to ignore the soft pads of her fingertips on his lips.

"You are cruel, on occasion. You are caustic and sarcastic, but you are not sadistic. You would never push a woman into sex and I know this because all the girls you have dated have been girls who are looking for a sexual encounter. You would not intentionally seduce a girl against her will, and you can't even begin to deny that."

"Fine," Draco started, but Ginny stopped him again.

"You also wouldn't lose control. Yes, you are a guy, but I doubt that you would ever let yourself get past the point of stopping unless you and the girl were both ready. You have incredible self-control; after all, you did break your addiction."

Draco pushed her hand away from his mouth. "Only because your brother locked me in a room."

"But you asked for help," said Ginny. "You're not fooling me."

"You don't have me figured out, Weasley. You want to believe that I think that way."

"But don't you?" asked Ginny. "That's why you tried to make me leave. You're afraid of losing control, aren't you?"

"No," said Draco.

"You are afraid of giving me that sort of power over you, that I could make you lose control."

"No."

"Mostly, you're just afraid of trust in general."

Draco shook his head.

"You are afraid that getting yourself into a relationship is just going to leave you vulnerable. You are afraid that I might hurt you, or leave, or even cheat on you."

Draco flinched.

"Draco, you can't go through life thinking that every one is going to leave, that no one really cares, that everyone is just looking out for themselves and they will betray you if the opportunity arises."

"I don't think that."

"Look me in the eye," said Ginny. "Look me in the eye and tell me that you are not terrified of getting in a relationship because you don't want to give anyone the power to hurt you. If you just stay in your study with your books and your facts and your genius, then you won't care for anyone and so nothing they can say can be harmful, nothing they can do will bring pain."

He didn't want to look in her eyes, but she stepped closer and he made the mistake of glancing at her. She had hazel eyes, but unlike Bill's, she had a bit more brown and they were a few shades darker. She had a certain darkness in her eyes as well, but at the moment it was completely swept aside.

"I'm a Gryffindor, Draco, and a Weasley. I don't cheat and I won't leave. I may hurt you if I get angry, because we all have a bad temper, but I will always apologize, and I will always make it better. If you ever want to have a relationship, a serious one, you are going to have to learn to trust. Who better to learn with?"

Draco shook his head. "No."

"Don't back out now," she said, stepping closer. He took a step back, hit the wall, and let his hands press against the surface, wishing the wall would just disappear, that he could fall through, anything to get away. She already knew too much. He was…damn it, he was terrified.

"Tell me that I was wrong," she challenged.

He couldn't, not fixed under her gaze. Even if he managed to lie, it would be blatantly obvious, to her and himself.

"Tell me that you aren't scared."

How could she read him like that?

She tilted her face up. "I want to kiss you," she said, her breath wafting across his lips.

"You don't," he said.

"No, I really do," she said, smiling. "Tell me that you don't want me to kiss you."

He didn't want her to kiss him. He didn't want her to kiss him.

"Tell me you don't want it," she said again.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He swallowed hard, glad that he was against the wall because his grip on the world was slipping.

She stepped closer so they were only two inches apart and stood on her tiptoes. Her hands reached out, not hesitating in the slightest, and ran through his hair before tipping his head down. Her lips met his, neither of them moving for a moment, and then she released the pressure, tipping her head to the other side and kissing his lips again. His lips latched onto hers of their own accord, the kiss open now, but gentle, soft. She tasted sweet. His tongue ran over her lips, memorizing the feel of them before venturing further and find hers, brushing against it.

He wanted to pull her closer, to bury his hands in her hair. His left hand reached out, but stopped before he could touch her. He couldn't touch her because then he would be lost and so he just devoured every bit of her mouth, returning his hands to the wall but now they were curled into fists, nails biting his skin to try and keep him conscious. He could see her freckled cheek and a strand of red hair that glinted gold. She kissed with her eyes closed.

She pulled back, but he followed, bending his neck and shoulders away from the wall, not aware that she was ending the kiss until her hands pressed him back. He blinked; she smiled quietly with reddened lips.

"See?" she asked.

She was referring to everything, he knew that. She wanted him to see that it wouldn't be bad, that he could trust her, that he wanted to be with her. He saw it all, but didn't know if he could trust. He did know that he wanted to be with her and the realization sent a wave of panic through his mind. He let his head drop against the wall as the world seemed to spin. It was too much.

"I-," he started, but then he stopped because his voice caught and he didn't know what else to say. Yes? No? Kill me now, it's less painful?

He pushed off the wall, knowing that his face was clearly portraying everything he felt inside but he could do nothing to stop it. She stepped back and let him leave, let him run for the door, for that he was grateful, and then he was running up the stairs and in his room. Once again, the wards went up and he fell face first on his bed. His arm grabbed a pillow and pulled it to his face.

His throat was closing up and his eyes stung. He swore into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut and every muscle tensed. He fell asleep that way.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometime close to midnight, Bill got up to make sure Draco was actually going to get to bed. The study light was on, and the door open a crack. He sighed and started down the hall, intending on sending the boy to his room. Voices caught his attention, one being Draco's more cold tones, and the other belonging to his sister.

Bill ventured closer and peeked through the crack, seeing Ginny confronting Draco. He knew that eavesdroppers rarely heard things they wanted to hear, but curiosity had him stay. What he heard, and saw, caused him to freeze at the door.

Ginny was talking about Draco kissing her and eluding to something else that had happened.

_What the hell had happened_?

Draco was trying to convince Ginny that she didn't want to date him.

_Since when did Ginny like Draco?_

He could tell, by watching the Slytherin, that Draco wasn't so sure he didn't like Ginny. He could see it in the tensed posture and the faint flickers of panic in his eyes.

Ginny had Draco pretty well figured out, and she was blunt, incredibly so. Draco couldn't argue with her even though he tried. Bill wondered how much it was because Draco actually did like his sister.

_Draco Malfoy liked his sister? _

Oh Merlin, he wished he hadn't stayed at the door, but he couldn't leave now. He had to know what was going on because so help him, if Draco had touched his sister in anyway, the boy was going to be in for it. No one hurt his little sister, no one _touched_ his little sister, without prior approval from her older brothers or parents.

And then Ginny had to step up close to Draco. She had to say, "I want to kiss you."

No, Ginny did not kiss boys that had not been subjected to the 'appropriate boyfriend test'.

He watched as Draco stepped back, and Bill thought hard at his sister '_Don't you dare!_' but telepathy is a myth, even in the wizarding world.

Ginny kissed him. Ginny kissed _Draco_ _Malfoy_. Draco Malfoy _kissed_ _back_.

Bill was not seeing this.

His sister stepped back and Draco tried to follow, but Ginny pushed him back.

"See?" she said.

Bill suddenly wondered if he got it wrong. Perhaps he should be more worried about Draco, because the kid was pale, his fists clenched. A myriad of emotions crossed the usually guarded face and the usually guarded eyes were clear, burning mercury.

Draco started to say something, his voice caught, and then he was striding to the door. Bill stepped back. The door swung open, hiding him, and he could hear Draco rush for the stairs, running up the steps. He had a faint sense of déjà vu. The last time he had heard Draco's running footsteps was when they had fought in Draco's sixth year, when Bill had sent him running out of the room with harsh words. The memory was still shameful.

Bill stepped around the door. Ginny was letting out a breath, hands pushing her hair back, and she whirled when he came in. Bill shut the door and turned to his sister.

"Ginny, we have to talk," he said.

"You saw?"

"I did."

She colored, dropped her hands, and sighed.

"Are you going to give me the 'he's not the right boy for you' speech?"

"Actually, no," said Bill.

"The 'I don't approve but I'm not going to stop you' speech?"

"Again, no."

"The only one left is 'don't get your heart broken', and you've always trusted me to know my own emotions. Mum gives me that one."

"I'm putting a twist on it," said Bill. "Don't break his."

Ginny looked at him, searching the gravity in his eyes.

"Gin," said Bill. "Draco's not…I don't think he's ready for a relationship just yet. I don't want you to help him and invest in him, only to decide that it's a drag dating an emotionally unavailable teen genius five months down the road and break up with him. Other boys could take that, but Draco isn't other boys. I don't want to see that happen."

"It won't," said Ginny. "You know that."

"I do," said Bill. "I just want to be sure."

"Does this mean I have your blessing?"

"I'm not done," said Bill. "I want you to be careful as well. Draco isn't the safest of people, and his father is Lucius Malfoy."

Ginny knew he was referring to the diary. He watched as her eyes darkened the way they always did when she thought of that year.

"I know," she said quietly.

"He doesn't know," said Bill.

"And he isn't going to know," said Ginny, looking up, determination driving the dark away.

"He's going to find out."

"Not if we don't tell him."

"Are you sure?"

"He cares for his father," said Ginny. "If he does…come to care for me and then he found out, what would he do?"

"He wouldn't leave, if that's what you were thinking."

"I know he wouldn't. But if he did grow to like me, what would he do to Lucius?"

Bill didn't know what to say. Ginny yawned.

"He's the boy trouble, isn't he?" he asked. "The one you talked about when we were in the hospital for Ron."

"He is," said Ginny.

It was a comfort to know she hadn't just started liking Draco.

Ginny yawned again and stretched.

"Well, I'm off to bed. I have a big day tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow?" asked Bill, wondering if he really wanted the answer.

Ginny smiled. "I'm going to ask Draco out."

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There may be lots of typos because I didn't edit very well (homework and all that). Please leave a review and make my day!


	10. Dating Difficulties

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would eat expensive chocolate every day. I don't own Harry Potter, and I'm thinking it might be for the best in this case.

Author's Note: So, I'm not updating next week, as I've explained to some, due to fall break and the gradual burn-out of this writer. Thanks for your understanding, and to show my appreciation, this is a longer chapter than usual. Yay!

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Draco did not sleep well. Thoughts of a certain Ginevra Weasley plagued his mind, and no matter what he did, he couldn't shut her out. He was afraid to sleep because if he was having this much trouble with his conscious mind, who knows what his subconscious would do.

Still, a hot shower had the circles fading from under his eyes and he made sure to comb his hair neatly and then dressed in a pair of black trousers and a light-blue oxford. Once he was satisfied that the clothes would detract from his pale complexion, he walked downstairs.

To his surprise, Dumbledore was sitting in the kitchen with Sirius, Kingsley, Snape, and Lupin.

"Ah, Draco," said the Headmaster, smiling at him. "I was hoping you would be awake. Remus has just gotten back from Prague and he has some interesting news to share."

Draco pulled out a chair next to Snape and sat. Bill walked in from the kitchen holding a pot of coffee, which he set in front of Kingsley. He gave Draco a quick smile, but for some reason it seemed forced. Draco chalked it up to stress from the baby. He turned to Lupin.

"Prague," he said. "I'm assuming you were looking into the Maruska family."

The tired-looking man raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Yes," he said.

"Which book did you pull that name from?" asked Dumbledore, not appearing surprised at all.

"_Hogwarts: A Dark History_," said Draco.

"I've never heard of that one," said Remus.

"Because it is contraband," said Dumbledore. "Still, it makes for excellent rainy day reading. I was always partial to chapter four myself."

Draco smirked. The alleged relationship between Slytherin's grandson and Gryffindor's grandniece was quite controversial. Some who believed the tale also believed that Shakespeare had been told the story by a wandering gypsy woman and had written '_Romeo and Juliet_' based off of the account.

"Yes," Dumbledore continued. "I sent Remus to discover if the rumor, that the Maruska's had been members of the famous raiding party of 1536. The headmaster at the time allowed a group of gypsies to stay at the school because of a treacherous storm. The gypsies were actually a band of infamous thieves, who boasted that they could steal anything, including artifacts from Hogwarts. They ransacked the treasure room and made their escape. Most were apprehended, but a few slipped away with several items. The Maruska's had several close friends implicated and so suspicion fell on them as well, but nothing was every proven."

"And that was when Hufflepuffs cup went missing," said Draco.

"Precisely," said Dumbledore. "I am positive that Voldemort discovered its location and turned it into a Horcrux; however, with his fall, the cup was lost. It is not inconceivable that the Maruskas would steal it back, for it is a valuable object in as of itself. It was rumored that Helga had placed powerful charms upon goblets, ones which could disable any potion placed inside, but also, after repeated use of the cup, make the drinker produce an immunity against most posions."

"It also had quite a bit of monetary value," said Draco. "I could see it sell on the black market for no less than twenty million galleons."

"That much?" asked Lupin.

"Twenty-five to thirty at an auction," said Draco, "but if it was advertised, it would just ask to be stolen."

"My thought as well," said Dumbledore. "An artifact such as that would not stay in the same hands for very long."

"Especially with the raids from the Aurors," said Draco.

"You mean the Aurors might have it in their possession?" asked Lupin.

Draco shook his head. "I'm talking about an Erus Feles, or a master thief. A raid by the Aurors is a perfect set up. The Aurors barge in, throw the family out, and start rummaging. While they are searching for dark objects, the Feles slips in. The thieves are usually hired by the neighbors, who are also into dark magic and know right where to look for the most valuable artifacts."

"But how would a thief know when the Aurors are going to raid?" asked Bill, speaking up for the first time, which Draco found out of character as well. He wondered if Bill was feeling alright.

"Because the neighbors are just as wealthy and affluent as the people they rob," said Draco. "It's easy, with that money, to get advanced notice of a raid, especially when you're not interested in a raid on your own home."

"So, we need to figure out who's been robbing who," said Sirius.

"It's more complicated than that," said Draco. "Sometimes the thieves run with the goods, which is a risky move, but not unheard of. My guess is that happened with the cup."

"How so?" queried Dumbledore.

Draco shrugged. "The Parkinson's have two Trojan doors. The original owners were the Cassius family, which died out in the 1800's. The doors have switched hands eighteen times since then. The Nott's have the last portrait of Rowena Ravenclaw stolen from the Armedes Art Gallery, but again, the painting has been bouncing back and forth for five decades. I would know if something as big as Hufflepuffs cup was circling around the Pureblood circle in England."

"How would we include the thieves in our search?" asked Kingsley. "I could have them dragged into the Auror's office for inquisition, but I don't think they would talk."

"There is a list," said Draco. "It's not entirely intact, so you can only find a thief for a house from the potion's dealer in Knockturn Alley, the art gallery specialists in the Hogshead, and so on. It offers a little more security that way."

"Will we have to inquire after all of them?" asked Bill.

Draco shook his head. "The cup would have been under heavy wards. Some of the security on these hidden safes is staggering, and it can take a few raids to actually get the safe open. Not to mention, the job does require a good amount of stealth. The Aurors are everywhere, and they could walk in without any notice at all. There are only a handful of thieves who could do that."

"And you are one of them," said Severus.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"You talk as if the job is exciting, and you know far too much about it. Don't tell me you've never tried," said Snape, the only other Slytherin in the room, which might explain why he read Draco so well.

Draco flushed. "I may have been interested in the career when I was younger. It made dinner parties more bearable."

Bill shook his head. "Only you, Draco."

"So we should look into who may have owned the cup, and see if we can't at least pick up the trail," said Kingsley.

"And that should be the easy part. Once objects drop off, they don't easily reappear." Draco turned back to Severus. "I suppose the Dark Lord is stepping up his own hunt?"

"He is searching quite obsessively, but he hasn't confirmed that it is the cup he is looking for," said Snape. "He's even been raiding the homes of Purebloods."

"Well, at least he's completely clueless too," said Bill.

"I could start compiling a list of thieves who could pull off a heist like this," said Draco. "I'm not exactly up-to-date, but it's a start."

"We've got lists at the Auror HQ as well," said Kingsley. "We can cross reference them."

Draco nodded. "Good. We should also look into families who could afford the cup. It may have been purchased a few times and there are only fourteen families who could drop that much without financial assistance."

"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "We'll get started immediately, right after breakfast."

Draco shot the old man a look, but then Mrs. Weasley bustled in, greeting the men and then continuing right on to the kitchen.

Draco wanted to say 'We could get started now', but he didn't think any of the men would agree with him.

"If you'll excuse me," said Snape, rising to his feet, "I've got a few potions brewing that need to be attended." He nodded to the table, returned the glare from Sirius, and then Flooed away. Draco was pretty sure the man was just beating a hasty retreat.

"Draco, how sure are you on the number of families who can afford the cup?" asked Kingsley and Draco turned to the Auror.

"Pretty sure," he said. "Of course, illegal tender would have to be taken into account. If so, than we should look into the Damian family, maybe the Mansfield's as well. That's sixteen, seventeen if you include me."

"I thought you were cut off," said Lupin.

"I am," said Draco. "But I had my own account which became mine when I turned seventeen and that was before the fact."

"So you can drop twenty-five to thirty million," said Sirius.

"No," said Draco. "I could spend twenty on it at a private sale. For the auction," he stopped and considered how well his investments had been doing, "I might have to take out a mortgage on my place in France." It would be a small mortgage though. He was doing quite well.

"You have a place in France?" asked Kingsley.

Draco shrugged. "It's an old family estate, nothing too large."

Dumbledore snorted. "I wouldn't call the Procella Ortus not too large. Quite a beautiful home. I visited your great-grandmother there once. Quite a capital woman."

Draco raised an eyebrow, surprised at the news, even though he shouldn't have been shocked at anything the old Headmaster did or said anymore.

"Oh, are we having an Order meeting?" asked Hermione, coming into the room with Harry and Ron.

"Just a before-breakfast information session," said Dumbledore. "We'll be having one tonight."

"Having what tonight?" asked Fred, coming in with his identical brother.

"Order meeting," said Ron.

"Excellent," said Fred.

"Means we'll have cake," said George.

Harry sat next to Draco. The boy-hero seemed to have taken it upon himself to socialize Draco into the family.

"How's the Parseltongue going?" he asked.

"Slowly," said Draco. "I don't suppose anyone has ever created a written language for it, have they?"

"There used to be one, back when it was more common, at least, that's what the snakes say. It died out though because no one spoke it anymore. Why?"

"I think I'll create one," said Draco. "Don't know if I'll ever speak it, but writing it shouldn't be too hard. I'll have to create a new alphabet, because s-r-l-s should be it's own letter it's used so often and I'll have to figure out the grammar syntax and punctuation, but after that's, it's pretty straight forward."

Harry looked at him. "You actually sound excited. There's something wrong with you."

"What's wrong with who?" asked Ginny, coming in with Charlie and her father. She sat across from Draco while Harry jerked his head towards him.

"He's wrong."

"Says the Boy-Who-Can't-Die," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, come now, boys. You have to learn to play nice," said Ginny. Draco ignored her to the best of his abilities. He had spent the entire night trying to convince himself and he had not kissed Ginevra Weasley and that she had not kissed him. Self-delusion was never his strong-point.

Fleur created a stir right then, to which he was grateful, by coming out into the dining room, holding Lukas in her arms. There was a loud hail from the table, several people clamoring to hold the baby.

"Settle down," said Bill, mock-glaring at them all. He took the baby and kissed Fleur on the lips. Mr. Weasley pulled out a chair for her.

"Thank you," said Fleur, sitting down.

"Now," said Bill, "who hasn't had the chance to hold Lukas?"

The twins raised their hands, but Bill just rolled his eyes. "Harry," he said, "do you want to?"

"I don't want to drop him, or anything," said Harry.

"You won't," said Bill. He placed the baby in Harry's arms and Draco scooted farther away.

"Hey," said Harry softly to the infant. He rocked the baby, getting an idiotic grin on his face. Hermione was smiling as well, watching her boyfriend holding the child.

"Iiich," the baby grunted and everyone 'aww'ed. Draco rolled his eyes, glad when Mrs. Weasley came back out with the food and Bill took the baby back to Fleur. He may have been the godfather, but that didn't mean he was going to fawn over the thing.

He poured himself a cup of coffee as the usual breakfast chaos set in.

"Harry, pass the eggs, would you, dear?"

"Oy, Fred, cut it out, would you?"

"Charlie, toast please."

"Fred, what did I just say?"

"I'm George."

"Charlie, could you pass the toast?"

"Tornado's may not win this year, did you see the pre-match?"

"But he got off because the Aurors, when they took him in, didn't immediately cast the Prior Incantum on his wand. His lawyer said that the Aurors could have cast it in the meantime, but we all know Evans is a sneaky bastard-,"

"Ginny!"

"Charlie! Toast? Thanks."

"Sorry."

"We'll it's mostly cleaned up. They're just re-setting the wards now."

That was Kingsley and Draco tuned into that conversation.

"Although," the Auror continued, "we've stolen the warders away from your school, sorry about that Albus. It looks like it might be a long Christmas break after all."

"Ah yes," lamented Dumbledore, "the children will be so devastated." His eyes twinkled.

"When will the Ministry open back up for business?" asked Lupin.

"The lower offices have already been open, and the rest should follow in three days or less. After that, it's just a few minor details."

"Like getting the plumbing working," said Mr. Weasley. "We have to Floo out to find a working toilet."

Ah, yes, Draco had nearly forgotten that the Weasley patriarch was now overseeing the Muggle Artifacts Office.

"Arthur, that hardly breakfast conversation," Mrs. Weasley scolded.

Kingsley laughed, a deep, booming laugh. "He makes a good point though, Molly. Fudge's private restroom is already up and running, in fact, it was up before the fifth floor had lights."

"How about your Headquarters?" asked Lupin.

"We're fully restored, and not hindered at all. That's what's good about having a secondary office. Still, some of the other departments aren't so lucky and shifts are extended, some even to Christmas Eve."

"That's not right at all," said Mrs. Weasley. "Making those poor people work on a holiday."

"The Aurors are pulling double shifts on Christmas," said Kingsley. "With Voldemort not caring much about holidays, we're afraid he might try something, crush morale and such."

"You don't really think-?" Mr. Weasley started, but Kingsley nodded gravely.

"Still," said Mrs. Weasley, with forced cheer. "We don't know for certain. Let's not be looking for a storm."

About every conversation ended just then and there was a pleasant lull. Draco liked the quiet.

Ginny tapped his leg under the table and he turned, eyebrow raised. He didn't exactly want to talk to her just then.

"You know, Draco," she said, "if you were waiting for a perfect time to ask my dad for permission to date me, now is as good as ever."

Every head whipped towards the middle of the table where Ginny sat across from him. Draco stared, as did the rest of the diners. The Weasley brothers were completely frozen; Fred and George were holding their forks half-way to their mouths.

Draco managed to recover relatively quickly from the shock.

"I don't want to date you," he told her.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Ginny.

Draco looked from her to Bill who was shifting uncomfortably. Draco put down his fork and ran a hand through his hair.

"Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley stiffly, "what's this?"

"Draco and I want to go out," said Ginny, giving her mother a smile.

"Absolutely not!" Fred exclaimed, dropping his fork onto his plate. George followed suit.

"Over our dead bodies!" he cried.

"Fred, George," said Ginny, "shut it."

"You're not dating a Malfoy, Gin," said Fred.

"Yeah, so it's Malfoy, but he's a Malfoy," said George.

"Way to sound not prejudiced," said Ginny, rolling her eyes.

"It's _Malfoy_," they chorused.

"Boys, please," said Mr. Weasley, trying for some semblance of control. "Ginny, this isn't funny."

"I'm not joking," said Ginny. "Draco and I want to go out."

"You want to go out," said Draco. "You do; not me."

"Way to be a man," said Ginny.

"It's just that this is rather sudden," said Mrs. Weasley, her voice sounding somewhat faint. Her hand was at her throat and she was glancing towards her husband, as if asking that he do something.

"Draco and I went to the Halloween dance together," said Ginny shrugging.

"You did what?" Fred and George yelped.

"You went with him?" Mrs. Weasley demanded.

"Yes, I went with Draco," said Ginny. "What's even worse is that I asked him to the dance."

"You did what?"

"You asked him?"

"You didn't even write to tell us? What if something had happened!"

"Nothing happened, mum."

"Ron, did you know about this?" Mrs. Weasley demanded of her youngest son, and then the chaos started again, this time ten-times worse. Lupin looked distinctly uncomfortable, Kingsley looked endlessly amused, and Dumbledore twinkled at them all.

"Really, it wasn't that big of a deal, mum."

"You're supposed to be watching out for your sister."

"You are not dating him."

"Oh, come off it."

"I'm actually with Ginny on this one."

"Thanks Harry."

"Now, don't you give her any ideas, Wonder-boy."

"Hey! That was completely uncalled for."

"Ginny, I'm just saying that this is sudden."

"It's not the suddenness we're worried about."

"I'm not worried about what you're worried about. I can date who I damn well please."

"Ginny!"

"I'm _sixteen_, mum."

"Yeah, like that makes a difference."

"Ron dated Lavender Brown for Merlin's sake. The girl who thought she was pregnant last year!"

"Wait, seriously?"

"Ginny, that's not the point."

"Why don't you let her explain?"

"Thanks Charlie."

"Ginny, have you really thought about this?"

Draco closed his eyes briefly at the noise and took a breath. He reopened them and turned to Mr. Weasley who wasn't joining in the general chaos.

Mr. Weasley jerked his head and stood. Draco scooted his chair back and followed Mr. Weasley into the living-room-turned-nursery. The table fell silent behind them, and then Draco shut the door.

Mr. Weasley crossed to the window, staring out, his hands crossed behind his back. Draco shifted, letting his fingers fly along their pattern. Mr. Weasley turned.

"You want to date my daughter," he said.

Draco hesitated for a split second, but then nodded. "Yes," he said, not fully deciding until the word was out of his mouth. Yes, this was most likely going to end horribly, but she wouldn't stay out of his head. Maybe this way he could get over her. Besides, the entire table already voiced their opinions on the matter, they might have well voiced them for a reason.

"It doesn't sound like it."

"It's a little…complicated," said Draco, wincing once the words were out of his mouth.

"Would you care to explain it to me then?" asked Mr. Weasley. "Because I'm not letting you out of this room until you tell me exactly what is happening between you and my daughter and I swear, if I don't like what you are saying, you are leaving this house, do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," said Draco, the 'sir' just seeming to fit in this situation.

"So explain why you told my daughter you didn't want to date her."

Draco swallowed, forcing his fingers to slow down, tapping out his pattern deliberately as he spoke.

"I haven't had a relationship with anyone like your daughter before," he said. "It's not that I don't find Ginny's company enjoyable, but I've generally left her type of girl alone."

"Why is that?"

Draco winced again, but he knew that, as a Gryffindor and a father, Arthur Weasley was looking for honesty and he must already know the truth. "I've usually gone for girls who were more interested in the benefits of dating, other than the relationship itself."

"So you've been playing around," said Mr. Weasley, not giving him an inch. "And now you want me to let you date my daughter. Why?"

"Because I'm interested in her," said Draco, the words coming out easier than he thought. "She's funny, she's smart, and she needs someone who can keep up with her. Also because she seems to have this weird liking for me and she won't take 'no' for an answer. Believe me, I've tried."

"You've tried telling her no and now you're what? Just giving in?"

"I've tried saying 'no' because I don't think we're going to make the best of couples."

"So she's not the right girl for you?"

"In a sense," said Draco, "yes. The other side of that is that I'm not right for her. I haven't been particularly nice for most of my life and I don't get along with most people. She is and does. I've tried to tell her that."

"So if you do date her, you're not even going to try to make it work?"

"No, I will," said Draco. "But that also means I'm not going to force myself to change all my ways just for her. I'm interested, but that's it."

"Good," said Mr. Weasley. "You're too young for binding promises of love anyway. Now, you do understand that Ginny is a good girl and I'm not going to let you pressure her into doing anything she doesn't feel comfortable with, right?"

"I like who Ginny is and I'm not going to change that," said Draco.

"And I'm supposed to believe you?"

"Yes," said Draco.

Mr. Weasley gave a small smile. "Fair enough. I suppose that this is the part that I threaten you with bodily harm if you hurt her, but I think you can fill in the blanks."

"Yes, sir."

"One last question. Your second year, what happened?"

Arthur Weasley seemed to be waiting for something, and Draco could tell that this question had more importance than most of the others, but he didn't know why.

"Are you referring to the Dark Lord reopening the Chamber of Secrets?" he asked.

Mr. Weasley seemed to relax, as if a weight was lifted. "It was Ginny's first year," he said. "She's younger than you, still sixteen and while you are ready for a career after this, she still has school and she will stay in school. None of this new-fangled trend of leaving school for a boyfriend, got it?"

"Yes, sir," said Draco, feeling as if there was another reason for the question, but he couldn't tell what.

"Good," said Mr. Weasley. "You have my permission to date my daughter. We'll be moving you to the third floor because while you are living in the same house, I don't have to like the idea of you sharing a bathroom or being able to sneak into each other's rooms, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, send in Ginny."

Draco nodded and left the room. Ginny was waiting outside and Draco nodded to the door. She slipped in and he leaned against the wall, watching as the door closed behind her. He wondered what he had just got himself into.

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Ginny closed the door and gave her dad a hesitant smile. He didn't return it.

"Ginny," he said seriously, "the only reason I am even remotely allowing this is because he doesn't know what happened your first year."

Ginny nodded.

"The other only reason is that he seems to be level-headed and isn't love-crazed like some of the other boy's you've brought home. The third only reason is that you seem to be set on him."

Ginny gave her dad a small smile. "He's so cute, I have to date him."

She watched her dad pause for a second before registering that she was joking. He gave a tired smile.

"Did it really have to be Draco Malfoy of all people?"

"You do realize that his father would being saying the rough equivalent of that, if he wasn't disowned, that is."

Maybe not the best of ideas to bring up Lucius Malfoy, she thought as her dad frowned, getting that murderous look in his eye that only the Malfoy patriarch could bring out. She wondered how much of it was from old grudges and how much was because Lucius Malfoy had slipped her the diary of Thomas Marvolo Riddle.

She walked over to her dad and gave him a hug.

"Draco's a nice guy," she said.

"That's not what he told me."

"He's being modest."

A slight paused and then both of them laughed.

"Alright," she said, pulling away, "so not being modest. He just likes to think that he still has the whole 'bad boy' persona going on. He's rather proud of being in Slytherin."

"Are you sure you want to date him then?"

"Dad, he's the hottest guy in school, filthy rich even without his father's money, and on top of that, he's a genius. He's every girl's dream come true."

Again, sometimes her dad didn't always understand when she was joking. He got that concerned furrow of his brow.

"I just want to make sure that he makes you happy and that you're not just dating him to make the other girls jealous."

"Dad," she said, "I like him, really."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it. You know, Ginny, you never needed my approval. I do trust you to make your own decisions. You're a smart girl and I'm very proud of you."

Ginny kissed her dad on the cheek. "Thank you."

"Just be careful."

"Promise," said Ginny, backing towards the door.

"And don't let him do anything that you're not comfortable with because some guys only have one thing on their mind."

"Dad!"

"I'm just saying, Ginny."

"I'm leaving now," said Ginny shaking her head. She made it to the door and opened it, trying to stifle her laughter. She stopped when she saw Draco.

He was leaning against the wall, arms loosely crossed and his hair was falling into his face. Merlin, he looked good.

"Hey," she said.

"So what's the verdict?" asked Draco.

He sounded as if he didn't care, but Ginny didn't base her assumptions on how he sounded, or how he looked. He wasn't an expressive person, and so she judged him by what he did and what he said, or didn't say. Draco had talked with her father, and from the sound of it, defended a position on how he wanted to date her.

She smiled. "My dad's fine with it."

"I doubt that."

"Alright, maybe not fine with it, but he's going to let us date."

His eyebrow rose fractionally, as if surprised. "I suppose we might as well make this official then. I'm working with Dumbledore and Kingsley at the moment, but I should have some time free after lunch. Would your parents let you out of the house?"

"Yes, as long as we're not gone long."

"Was there something in particular you wanted to do?"

She understood what that line meant. She kneew that Draco was usually the initiator of a relationship, deciding where they would go and when. Draco could read his other girlfriends, knew what they wanted, but he wasn't sure with her. He was still a little wary.

"Let's go to Muggle London," she said. "You can buy me some ice cream."

Two reasons for Muggle London. One, her parents wouldn't exactly be thrilled to let her loose in the Wizarding world when Death Eaters were running about. Two, Draco probably didn't want their relationship displayed on every newspaper the next day. They were both rather conspicuous, what with their hair color, and Draco was already a bit of a celebrity because of his disownment and because the children who had been rescued after the Hogwarts attacked told of Draco's involvement in the escape. Ginny wanted him to enjoy the date, not dodge reporters, even if that meant she couldn't show him off.

Third reason, there was an adorable ice cream parlor just down the road from the Leaky Cauldron and they had an amazing blend of flavors.

Draco nodded, and she could see his shoulders relax slightly. Muggle London was the right pick.

"Great," she said, knowing that she was grinning like an idiot. She managed to calm the smile down. "After lunch. See you then."

She immediately went upstairs and grabbed Hermione from the drawing room. "I need your help." She pulled her into her room and threw open her closet doors. Hermione took a seat on her bed.

"I can't believe you're actually dating Draco Malfoy."

"What?" asked Ginny. "Didn't think it could be done?"

"Honestly? No."

Ginny laughed, but then stopped after she looked through her wardrobe.

"I have nothing to wear," she said. She groaned and tugged at a strand of her hair. "Mione, what am I going to wear?"

"What about the ivory shirt you just bought?"

"We're walking around Muggle London."

"So something warmer then."

"Yeah."

"Well, you bought that blue long-sleeved shirt, and that looks darling on you."

"But I can't wear something I just bought. It'll look like I'm trying too hard."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Because I can't be too interested in him, you know? He's so emotionally cool that I can't express the fact that I'm completely ecstatic to even be walking with him."

Hermione grinned. "You have it bad for him, don't you?"

Ginny groaned as she felt her cheeks burn up. She covered her face with her hands until she could feel the red fading. She looked at Hermione.

"I don't want to scare him off."

"He's faced down Voldemort. I doubt a girl is going to send him running."

Ginny fell silent, remembering when he had kissed her, when she had kissed him.

"Ginny, what?" asked Hermione.

"Promise not to tell?" she asked.

"Always," said Hermione.

"Okay then," said Ginny. She joined Hermione on the bed and quickly related what had happened the other day, her cheeks flaming as she did so.

"He did what?" Hermione had demanded as she tried to gloss over the fact that he had taken her bra off.

"He was trying to tell me not to date him," said Ginny. "He told me that I was in over my head, that he shouldn't get involved with me, but I wouldn't listen. So he proved it to me."

"Then what?" asked Hermione.

"He left, I cried, and then I went to confront him late that night and kissed him, just to prove that he did want to date me."

"You initiated a kiss with Draco Malfoy?"

"I had him up against a wall and everything," said Ginny.

"Are you serious?" Hermione exclaimed, looking half-awed, half-mortified.

"Completely," said Ginny.

"Wow," said Hermione. She fell silent for a moment before speaking up. "You do realize you have one of the most messed-up relationships and you just started today?"

"Yeah," said Ginny. She waited, wondering if Hermione was going to disapprove.

Hermione looked up at her. "So he must be a really good kisser than, right? To get your bra off and you didn't even notice?"

Ginny laughed, grabbing a pillow to hide her face because her face was scarlet even though she was smiling so hard it hurt. She peered out and nodded.

"Amazing kisser," she said. "Incredible. The room spun and I saw stars and everything."

Hermione squealed happily, as only teenaged girls can, and Ginny buried her face in the pillow again. She looked up a few minutes later.

"Okay, on a serious note," she said, "I really have nothing to wear."

By lunch she had found the perfect outfit. Draco was eating with Dumbledore and Kingsley in the study as they picked over a few names, and it was probably for the best. Her brothers were all at the table in silence, staring at her.

"You aren't seriously dating him, are you?" asked Fred.

"Because it would be just like you to plan this elaborate joke," said George.

"She's not joking," said Ron, taking a sip of juice. Ron wasn't against the relationship; he just wasn't completely for it.

"Mate, seems to me you ought to be a little more upset," said Fred.

"Yeah, I mean, you can't stand the git," said George.

"And the git saved my life," said Ron. "I'm not thrilled, but he's alright."

Fred and George looked to each other, shifting uncomfortably as they remembered.

"Right, so maybe he's not so bad," George allowed and Fred nodded.

"He isn't," said Harry. "And he has the sweetest car ever. Convertible."

"Malfoy has a car?" asked Fred.

"What kind?" asked George.

"Cadillac," said Harry. "Picked me up from my house before school started and we got chased by Death Eaters through London."

"Wait, that was you?" asked Ron. The event had been reported in the news. "You didn't tell me."

"Draco threatened me," said Harry, "but I figure Ginny will protect me."

Ginny shot him a grin.

"Arthur," said her mum to her dad as he was staying home today; Ginny thought he might be staying just to make sure everything went well. "Arthur, I don't know if I like the idea of an automobile. Those are pretty dangerous."

"We're just walking around town," said Ginny. "Getting ice cream and what not."

"Ice cream in this weather?" asked her mum. "I don't want you catching a cold."

"And you also don't want me dating Draco," snapped Ginny, getting fed up with the attention. She saw her mother look down, pursing her lips, and she sighed. "I promise, mum, best behavior from both of us. And let's not forget I can handle myself. I did get him with the Bat-Boogey my fourth year."

Her mum looked to Bill. "You do vouch for him?"

"I shouldn't think he needed to be vouched for anymore," said Bill. Ginny knew he disapproved of all the questioning as well.

"Trusting him to live here is one thing," said her mother. "Trusting him to date your sister is another. Let's not forget, it was his fa-,"

Draco stepped into the room from the hall and her mother fell silent. Ginny didn't think Draco heard, but he must have known they were talking about him because his expression was too blank and his cheeks faintly flushed.

"I'm just," he said, gesturing for the stairs, as if he had to explain himself. He looked to Ginny. "About ready?" he asked, avoiding everyone else's gaze.

She nodded. "Five minutes?"

He nodded as well and then walked quickly through the room and to the stairs. Once he was out of sight Ginny turned back to glare at her family.

"Thanks," she said. She got up. "I'm going to brush my teeth and grab my coat. How about you don't all wait for us to get back?"

She ran up the stairs to brush her hair one more time and then brush her teeth. Draco was just coming out of the bathroom as she started for it and there was an awkward moment of passing, a half-smile on her part and a brief nod on his. Ginny winced once he had gone.

She made sure she was presentable before she went down. She had to admit, Hermione was right. The clingy white v-neck, paired with the jeans and her light brown coat looked perfect together with the right accessories and her hair was actually cooperating today with just the right amount of curls. Hermione had helped with her make-up as well. Mascara, a sea-blue eyeliner to bring out her eyes, and lip gloss. She looked pretty, but in a casual, I-didn't-try-at-all way.She ran downstairs after shoving her shoes on, sensible dark-blue tennis shoes. They would be walking after all.

"Ginny, grab a hat and some gloves in case you get cold," her mum called.

"I'm fine," said Ginny.

Draco was waiting for her by the door. He had changed as well, into jeans and a grey sweater. The clothes were casual but they must have cost a fortune because they fit him perfectly. He was wearing a black coat over it, again the fine fit betraying its expense, but Ginny wasn't fazed as other girls might have been.

She gave him a smile.

"Shall we?"

He gave a smirk, but it was a pleasant one, if that was at all possible. He opened the door for her and she stepped out.

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Again, no update next week, but it's a lovely place to pause, so how about leaving a review for the tired author, huh?


	11. THe First Date

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Otherwise I could write fanfic all day.

Author's note: Apologies. I took three weeks instead of two. I kinda didn't realize that I had a complete week of tests after break. But they're done now, yay, and I'm back on track with the story. Huzzah!

Ooo, real quick. I just wrote this chapter, and I've got five minutes to post it, so I'm not exactly proof-reading. Sorry for mistakes.

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Draco walked alongside Ginny, wondering if he should say something or just keep quiet. Usually, with the other girls, he would compliment them. They would simper, say something back and then grab his arm and lean in for a kiss. Ginny wasn't like them though and so he stayed quiet because the silence was comfortable and he didn't need to talk. He was pleased that she didn't have to either and they walked for two blocks this way.

"I'm sorry for all of that back there," said Ginny as they crossed a street.

He looked over, knowing what she was referring to.

"It's fine."

"No, not really," she said. "I mean, I practically forced you to ask me out and then made it rather awkward for you, so sorry. I mean, not for asking you out, just the awkward part."

The corner of his lip twitched.

"Awww," said Ginny, stopping in front of a store window. Draco stopped as well, reading the store sign 'The Pet Place' and then at the window where a few cats were lounging in cages. Ginny was looking at the puppy though. It was racing around a fenced in area on the floor and it caught sight of Ginny outside. It ran over, tongue hanging out and leaned its front paws against the window sill.

Ginny pressed her hand against the glass and the dog tried to sniff it and then licked the window.

"Let's go in," said Ginny.

"Must we?" asked Draco, but only because he knew he was going to be dragged in one way or the other.

"Yes," said Ginny. "We must."

He followed her into the store where there were a few families inside, reaching into cages to pet rabbits or cats. A few were reaching over the fence to pet the puppy which was some sort of lab-retriever mix with golden fur. Ginny leaned over the fence and the dog went straight to her, jumping up against the fence and lapping at her fingers eagerly.

"Oh, look at you," said Ginny, stroking behind the puppy's ears. "You are a gorgeous little dog, aren't you?"

The puppy was practically wriggling under the attention, occasionally taking an excited lap around the fence only to come straight back to Ginny.

"You do know you can't keep it," said Draco, stepping closer to cast an eye over the dog.

"Oh, shush," said Ginny. "We're having fun."

Draco scowled at the puppy, but Ginny looked over and caught his expression.

"Oh, no," she said. "Don't tell me you're a cat person."

"Would that be bad?" asked Draco.

"I am a complete dog person, always will be. How much of a cat person are you?"

"I'm just not a pet person in general," said Draco.

"How can you not like animals? Especially puppies. They are so cute."

"And they smell and they chew things and they need constant attention," said Draco.

Ginny just laughed at him.

To his relief, they didn't stay long, just until Ginny had her fill of puppy-petting, and then she wiped her hands with the anti-bacterial gel that was provided. Draco had a feeling she might have left earlier than normal because she felt he wasn't enjoying himself. Oddly enough, he had been quite content to watch her pet the puppy.

"Is there a particular place you wanted for your ice cream?" asked Draco.

"Yes," said Ginny. "This way."

She walked down the steps to a tube station and he dutifully followed, scouting out the Muggles that hurried to and fro, looking for anyone who might have posed a threat. It wasn't that he was wary of pick-pockets, he could usually spot them quite easily, but just because the Muggle and Magical world were separate, didn't mean that they never mixed. The Dark Lord had spies everywhere.

It was a relatively short ride on the tube. Draco knew where they were, about a block from the Leakey Cauldron, but he had never entered the store Ginny led him into. It was an ice cream parlor but decorated like a jazz-playing coffee shop. She led him to the counter where they peered into the long freezer boasting more flavors of ice cream than he had ever seen in one place.

The specialty sign said to mix three flavors together for a sensational treat.

"What's your favorite kind?" Ginny asked.

Draco shrugged. "Don't know."

Ginny turned to look at him. "Sometimes I want to cry for you," she said.

He knew that she was only half-joking.

"Decided yet?" asked the woman at the counter with a small smile. It was winter, and right after lunch, and so they were the only ones in the shop.

"A scoop of strawberry, coconut, and French vanilla," said Ginny. She turned to Draco. "Decided yet?"

"Do you know how many combinations are possible?" asked Draco.

"You're the genius," said Ginny. "Shouldn't you have some weird equation you can use to make up your own mind?"

Draco rolled his eyes but turned to the woman. "Coffee, chocolate and raspberry."

She rang them up and Draco saw Ginny reaching into her pocket, but he stepped up first, handing over his credit card. Ginny raised her eyebrow at the card. Once they had their ice cream and were seated in a comfortable booth, she spoke up.

"Isn't a credit card a little Muggle for you?"

"Probably," said Draco. "It was useful though."

"When?" asked Ginny.

"Last summer," said Draco, "when I left home."

"Ah," said Ginny. "What did you do?"

"Went to the States."

"Is it nice?"

"Some nice areas, some not so nice," he said vaguely. Talking about himself had never come easily. Too many survivor instincts wanted him to keep quiet.

"I would like to travel," said Ginny. "We went to Egypt to visit Bill once, when he was still a curse-breaker, and that was a blast, but a little too hot."

"It is hot down there," Draco agreed.

"You've been?"

"Yeah, when I was younger. Used to travel a lot."

"Where's your favorite place to visit?" asked Ginny. "And no saying you don't have one. If you could go one place, right now, where would it be?"

If it had been any other girl, Draco would have said 'I'm happy right here with you' or something to that regard. The girl would have thought it was cliché, but sweet and would have scooted over to his side of the bench and heavy kissing would follow. It was Ginny though and so he actually considered the question.

"Right now, Italy."

"Where in Italy?"

"The south," said Draco. "There's a wizarding town right on the coast."

"And why there?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Because I'm curious."

Draco shook his head at her. "It's quiet there."

"As opposed to headquarters right now."

"You people don't mind your own business. And you're rather loud."

"Can't deny that," said Ginny. "You should have seen our house when we were growing up. Chaos."

"I do not know why your parents had all of you," said Draco, falling into her usual style of light banter.

Ginny laughed. "Because they were trying for me, or rather, a girl. They had Bill and Charlie, and thought three would be nice, and they wanted a girl, if possible, so they tried once more and ended up with Percy. They decided that one more couldn't hurt, and they were still hoping for me, so they had one more that turned out to be Fred and George."

"Nasty surprise," said Draco.

She nodded. "Mum really wanted a girl, and Dad did too, even if he denied it, so then they had Ron."

Draco's lips quirked at her phrasing and she caught sight of it and grinned herself.

"They didn't even intend to have me," she said. "But they were happy."

"What about your brothers?" asked Draco.

"They all wanted a sister," said Ginny. "You could say I was spoiled as a child."

"Never would have guessed," said Draco.

"Hey!" said Ginny. "Speak for yourself."

Draco just smirked. They ate in silence for a while, Ginny stealing a bit of his ice cream. Draco spoke up, because it was his turn to make conversation and because he was interested.

"Do you have a favorite brother?" he asked.

"I can tell you were an only child," said Ginny. "Having a favorite brother would be saying that you loved your dad more than your mum."

"I hate Narcissa," said Draco.

He hadn't intended to say that, and the words surprised him. Ginny looked up, surprised as well.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said.

He looked down at his ice cream, feeling her gaze on his face. She answered his question, stepping away from his momentary outburst.

"Well, the point I was trying to make is that I love all my brothers the same. There are, however, a few I like more than the others, but that usually just depends on what's going on. Ron is a bit overprotective, and he can overreact like none other, but at the same time, he definitely covered for me quite a few times and he would never rat me out. Fred and George are great for a laugh, but sometimes you just need a few minutes of quiet. I swear they never shut up, and they can't be serious about anything, except maybe with each other. Percy was good for homework help and tough decisions, but he left. I think he just saw our family as ridiculous and he wanted to be taken seriously in his career. I don't think mum and dad helped there."

"They kicked him out?" asked Draco.

Ginny shook her head. "Percy disagreed on a few political matters, and mum and dad tried to convince him he was wrong. When he got a job at the Ministry, they were a bit too adamant about their disapproval, and Fred and George used to ride on him, so he just moved out. Haven't heard from him since."

"I'm sorry," said Draco.

Ginny shrugged. "It happens you know. I think he still writes to Charlie. Charlie is the person you go to if you need an ear. He will just listen to whatever it is you say. He won't give opinions most of the time, which is a little aggravating, but he can keep a secret. And Bill, Bill is great. After I was born, mum got really sick, and Bill was there. He's a best friend and a brother all at the same time, and he was always interested in what I was doing and what I thought, even when I was a kid."

She smiled, no doubt at some memory.

"What about your brother?" she asked. "What was he like? I mean, you don't have to answer if you don't want, but-,"

"It's fine," said Draco. "Lukas was a lot like Bill, but…more carefree, I guess. He was always smiling, always laughing. He was a flirt too, a big one. I was somewhat surprised that Laney was actually legitimate."

"That's horrid!" Ginny exclaimed, but she was laughing and he shrugged.

"It's the truth," he said. "I remember sometimes he would take me to the park just so women would approach him."

"He didn't," said Ginny.

Draco nodded, feeling his lips quirk up at the memory. He didn't like thinking about his brother because he could never block out the bad memories, watching him fall with the green light, but it was easier with Ginny. For some reason, her light was infectious.

"He did. And I played along of course because then he would take me and the girl out to lunch, and it was usually at a nice place."

"Already a Slytherin, weren't you?"

Draco shrugged a shoulder and smirked lightly. "Perhaps."

It was a pleasant atmosphere in the ice cream parlor, and the conversation flowed easily. They threw out their bowls once they were finished and walked back outside, blinking in the sudden sunlight.

They turned back to the Headquarters together and Ginny grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers. Draco made no move to let go.

They held hands the entire way back. Draco had never really held hands with his girlfriends before. He was used to linking arms with them, pressing up against each other. Holding hands was strangely more intimate in its innocence. Ginny liked to swing their arms slightly, tugging on his hand to call his attention to some building or group of people.

It was a short trip, but enjoyable. Draco was actually disappointed that they came back to Grimmauld Place. If leaving had been such a hassle, who knew what interrogation was lying in wait for them once they arrived.

They were just stepping up onto the porch when the door swung open and Fred and George appeared. They looked at the two of them and Draco hurriedly dropped Ginny's hand.

"Did you have fun?" asked Fred.

"Not too much fun I hope," said George.

Ginny groaned. "I thought I said don't wait for us," she said.

"We weren't," the twins said quickly.

"I was talking it over with Forge here," said Fred.

"And we decided that maybe we were a bit harsh on the ferret, seeing as he's been playing nice since he got here," George continued.

"And mum was having a bit of a fit and was looking out the kitchen window every five-,"

"I'd say three-,"

"Every four minutes and dad was pacing a bit."

"So we may have set off a few dung bombs, just for a distraction."

"We were also trying out a bit of our new exploding potions-,"

"And we may have caused a bit of a mess."

"But," said Fred, "we did it all for you Gin."

"By way of apology," said George.

"I wouldn't say apology," said Fred.

"Too strong a word?"

"A bit."

"By way of showing that we accept your decision."

"Nice wording."

"Thanks."

Ginny smiled and shook her head. "Thanks, Fred, George," she said, giving them hugs.

"Wrong way," said Fred. "I'm George."

Ginny stopped and stepped back, studying them.

Draco spoke up. "Liar."

The three turned to him and he smirked, pointing to Fred. "You're Fred."

"How do you know?" asked Fred.

"I'm Fred," said George.

"You're George," said Draco. "Your freckles are slightly more concentrated on your nose."

The twins looked at each other.

"No, they aren't," they said.

"Seriously?" asked Ginny. "Let me see."

"No!" they both cried, covering their noses and running up to their room to see if Draco was right.

"You notice freckle concentration?" asked Ginny, turning to Draco. He smirked.

"No. I just though that might get them to leave."

"You're evil."

"Most likely," said Draco.

"So how do you tell them apart?"

Draco shrugged. "Just do. How about you?"

"Same," she said.

He held open the door so she could go in and then followed her into the hall.

The twins had been right. They had unleashed dung bombs in the house, and it smelled of smoke. Ginny scrunched her nose.

"What did they do, burn the house down?"

Draco peered into the dining room to see the charred remains of the once large table. Most of the adults were standing around it, trying to clean up the mess and clear the air. He ducked back into the hall.

"Just the dining room table," he said, and then took Ginny's coat from her to hang it in the closet.

"And who said chivalry was dead?" Ginny asked.

"Ginny?" asked Mrs. Weasley, obviously hearing her daughter's voice from the hall.

"I'm here," said Ginny, walking over to the doorway and waving.

"Did you have fun?" asked Mrs. Weasley, sounding rather anxious.

"Yes, mum."

"What did you do?"

Ginny leaned behind the wall to whisper to Draco.

"Should I tell them we had wild animal sex, or that we got matching tattoos?"

"Start small," said Draco.

"Ginny? What are you whispering about?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"Nothing, mum," said Ginny, returning to the doorway. "I was just asking Draco how long he thought we could keep the tats hidden."

"Tats?" asked Mrs. Weasley in alarm. "You got a tattoo?"

"I was joking," said Ginny, rolling her eyes to Draco.

"That's not funny, Ginny. Now, come on in here, and help me get this cleaned up."

Ginny walked into the dining room, and he followed, lingering at the doorway as Charlie began levitating the remains of the table out of the room and Ginny took the magical mop from her mother. Mr. Weasley was clearing the air with a few spells and they all looked over at him.

He shifted. "Did you need any more help?" he asked, trying to be considerate and helpful.

"I think we've got it all covered, but thank you," said Mrs. Weasley, giving him a smile that was forced, but not entirely so. "Albus and Kingsley are in your study."

Draco nodded and then walked down the hall. Kingsley had left after lunch to see if he could gather a list of the recent raids on the families who could afford to buy the goblet. He didn't think the Auror would be back so quickly though.

Dumbledore and Kingsley were looking over the file when he walked in. Bill was there as well, holding Lukas in his arms. The infant was awake and staring.

"Hey," said Bill. "Have fun?"

He was interested, yes, but not prying. He was a welcome relief from the rest of the red-haired family.

"It was fine," he said.

"Fine," Kingsley snorted.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Who's on the sheet?"

"We have five families who would have been able to buy the goblet who have had raids in the past year alone."

"I think we can count out those families," said Draco.

"Why?" asked Bill.

"If they've been raided recently, they're probably Death Eaters since the Ministry is finally taking a proactive stance against the Dark Lord. No Death Eater would have the Horcrux; the Dark Lord would have already made sure of that. We need to look for a raid taking place right after the fall, around fifteen years ago. That's when the first theft would have taken place. Maybe we can trace it from there."

Kingsley pulled out another sheet. "This is just a list of the raids occurring in the past fifteen years. I can't get anything more detailed without proper clearance." He put it on the table. Draco leaned over it, as did Dumbledore. He scanned over the names.

"I didn't count some of these families," he said. "Some have completely died out since the fall. The Gerard's, for one."

He frowned, turning over a few thoughts in his head.

"Any ideas?" asked Dumbledore.

"A few," said Draco. "If we assume that the Maruska's were the first to steal it back, the thief they hired could have talked, spreading that rumor around. I can but this into an equation, rate the factors for stealing the goblet and finding which one matches. Might take a while."

"How long is a while?" asked Kingsley.

"Two, three hours," said Draco. "I know most of these families, but I could use a more detailed profile on a few."

"I can get you that," said Kingsley.

Draco nodded. "I'll need it on the Balfour's, the Lowry's, the Ringgold's and the Winchcombe's."

"I'll get right on that." Kingsley nodded and left the room.

Draco turned back to the page, already working through the algorithms even as he picked up the quill. He raised his eyebrows at Dumbledore and Bill. They laughed and left the room as well, leaving him to blessed quiet.

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"Hey," said Bill, finding his sister in the drawing room. She was reading a magazine, Witch Weekly, so it must have been Hermione's. Ginny had never been one for gossip columns.

"Hey," said Ginny.

"What are you doing up here?"

"Hiding."

"From?"

"People."

She sat up, and patted the couch next to her. Bill sat and then Ginny held out her arms for Lukas. Bill transferred his son to Ginny's hands and smiled at the way she held the boy perfectly. She was more like Molly Weasley than she liked to admit.

Lukas looked upset at the initial transfer, having just dozed off, but Ginny shushed him, rocking him gently and Lukas decided she wasn't so bad after all and closed his eyes again.

"How was your date?" asked Bill.

"That was actually the reason I was hiding," said Ginny. "I wanted to have girl-talk with Hermione, but she's out with Harry and Ron."

Her tone said that this was a discretion that she was not going to let go.

"Talk to me," said Bill. "Who's your favorite oldest brother?"

Ginny smiled and sat back, shifting Lukas to a more comfortable position.

"I had fun," she said.

"That's always a good sign."

"It was relaxed, not like a lot of first dates. At least, I was relaxed, I think he was a little tense."

"Your send off probably didn't help all that much," said Bill.

"Not at all," said Ginny. "Still, I think Fred and George are being reconciled to the fact that their sister is dating a Malfoy. I think mum is still a little wary, dad too."

"You have to realize that it's normal for them to worry," said Bill.

"I know," said Ginny. "I just think their being a bit…paranoid. I mean, Draco's only saved our lives how many times now?"

Bill laughed. "Yes, one would think that would make up for a grievous amount of wrong, but it was only last year all of you were complaining about him. Give mum and dad sometime."

Ginny sighed, but nodded.

"So, what did you do?" asked Bill.

Ginny gave him a look. "You may have long hair, but this is purely girl-talk. Especially because you're all brotherly with him."

"Alright," said Bill, "I understand."

"What did he say about it?" asked Ginny.

"Oh, so I can tell you what he said, but you won't tell me?"

"Something like it."

Bill shrugged. "He said it was fine, but you know Draco. He wouldn't say either way. I think that's something you'd have to find out for yourself. Shouldn't you know if he was horribly bored by it, though?"

"I don't think he was," said Ginny. "I just don't know if he had fun."

"I don't think you're going to be able to tell a lot of things about him," said Bill.

"I know."

"I mean, if you're having second thoughts-,"

"What?" asked Ginny. "No, not at all. I just want to get to the stage where I can read him a little better, or to the point where he's a little more forth coming with his thoughts."

"I can understand that," said Bill.

"How did you get to know him so well?"

"Well, I think I was at a bit of advantage. I was the only one who figured him out, and he was caught off guard, so I think he let more slip than he actually attended. He also said that I reminded him of Lukas. You're going to have a harder time because you are dating him. He doesn't let girls get close to him."

"Because he hates his mother," said Ginny, giving a nod.

Bill raised his eyebrows. "He told you that?"

"He let it slip, and he seemed adamant enough about it."

"From what I understand, Narcissa is, well, loose and apparently Lucius holds some regard for her. He would have to like her at least somewhat, I mean, when I heard she was fooling around so openly, I thought for sure Lucius would ill her, but there you have it."

"I knew it was something like that," said Ginny. "I talked to Blaise before break about Draco, hoping to gain a few insights."

"Think it will be enough?" asked Bill.

Ginny shrugged. "I hope so."

Bill checked on Draco's progress half an hour before dinner. Draco was leaning over the table full of papers and his brow was knit. He didn't look up when Bill came in, so Bill cleared his throat. Still no response.

"Draco," said Bill.

Draco's head shot up, hand starting for his wand, but he recognized Bill in half a second.

"Hey," he said, going back to his work.

"How's it going?" asked Bill, coming over to look at the papers.

"Badly," said Draco, making a few more notes on a page before shuffling through the stack. "There's more information than I first thought, which normally is a good thing because it means I can make a more detailed analysis, but in this case it means that there is an entire slew of new possibilities. I've tried mapping them out, on the basis that the Marsuka's were the first to reclaim the goblet, but from there, at least four families could have stolen it next, and each of those four have any number who could have grabbed it, and so on."

"Is there anyway you could narrow down the possibilities?" asked Bill.

The door opened and Dumbledore and Kingsley entered. Kingsley raised his eyes at the amount of papers; Dumbledore gave a small smile.

"I take it you have run into a few unforeseen obstacles?" he asked.

Draco rolled his eyes; Bill explained the situation.

"What would you need to cut down the possibilities?" asked Kingsley, echoing Bill's question from before.

Draco shrugged and pulled out a particularly large sheet of paper. There were eighteen names on the sheet and different colored intersecting lines were drawn to represent the possible change of hands. It appeared to be one large mess.

"Right here," he said, pointing to a name with several of the colored lines ending at it. "The Fortescue's. A dark family, known for their eccentricities. They haven't joined the Dark Lord because they don't necessarily believe in any causes. The Dark Lord can't force their hand either, because if anyone of them is harmed or held as blackmail, they will do everything in their power to get revenge. They are known for their suicide attacks in such cases, taking out a dozen men and sacrificing themselves."

"And they're one of your suspects," said Bill.

"They have miserly tendencies," said Draco. "They couldn't resist an ancient, powerful artifact. Either it's there, or it isn't. Either way it would help."

"How would you eliminate them?" asked Kingsley.

Bill saw Draco pause, and then glance in his direction before giving a nonchalant shrug.

"Check their safe," he said.

It took a minute for his implication to sink in.

"No," said Bill. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?" asked Draco.

"You just told us that these people are creeps! I'm not going to let you break into their house and get caught."

"I'm not going to get caught. I've done this before."

"Before when you were on the bad guy's good side," said Bill. He ignored Kingsley's snort at his choice of phrasing. "Draco, it's too risky."

"But it would be during a raid," said Draco.

"He has a point," said Kingsley. "If I were on the raiding party, I could buy him time, make sure that he was relatively uninterrupted."

"Happy now?" asked Draco, turning to Bill.

Bill paused. He would feel better if Kingsley was there as well, but he wasn't entirely convinced. He turned to Dumbledore. "What do you think?"

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "How certain are you that the operation would run smoothly?" he asked Draco. "No false assertions, I want you to actually consider this."

"I'm not saying it wouldn't be tricky," said Draco. "But the family is older and reclusive. They will be using strong wards, but ancient ones. There are a lot of ways to get by them with the advances in magical spells. I could probably even tell if and when the safe had been broken into last, which would more than halve my suspect list. If Kingsley can buy me time, it should go without a hitch."

Dumbledore nodded. "Then I believe it should be attempted. Kingsley, when would you be able to schedule a raid?"

"A week at the least," said Kingsley.

"That long?" asked Draco. "Can't we just leave a tip to clue them in on possible illegal activities?"

"The Fortescue's are being raided tonight under suspicion of housing Azkaban escapees," said Kingsley. "I'm not on the team, and given the nature of the raid, it is going to be one of the more thorough searches. Henderson's is heading it, and his group has the tendency to hex first and ask questions later. The strength of the curses he uses isn't necessarily warranted. It would be best to wait for next week."

"Next week could be too late," said Draco.

"If there isn't another raid, it's not going to go anywhere," said Dumbledore. "It would be best to wait on this one. We can't afford any casualties."

"But-,"

"Draco," said the Headmaster. "It is the best course of action to wait and we will do so."

His tone was gentle, but firm. Draco wasn't happy with the restrictions and it showed. Still, he clenched his jaw and nodded.

"Now," said Dumbledore jovially, "I do believe it is time for dinner and it smells delicious. No doubt all of that plotting has made you hungry, eh Draco?"

Bill thought the Headmaster was overdoing it. Draco appeared to agree because his face went blank and his eyes went cold.

Bill gave him a sympathetic smile as they filtered out to the kitchen, but Draco didn't appear mollified. Ginny seemed to realize something was wrong as well because she sat right next to Draco, her head tilted to the side, expression quizzical.

Bill didn't catch the conversation, because he was sitting with Fleur on the other side of the table, the new one that Fred and George had bought after destroying the first, but he did see Ginny talking and he saw Draco's lips twitch up slightly at whatever she had said. Draco responded, she laughed, and then brushed his arm reassuringly.

Satisfied that Ginny would see to her boyfriend, oh Merlin, was that a weird concept, he turned to Fleur and gave her a peck on the cheek.

After dinner Bill helped Draco move his stuff into the empty room on the third floor. He understood this concern of his father's completely, and Draco did as well. He couldn't help but notice that Draco seemed much more at ease after eating with Ginny. He didn't think Draco would appreciate him commenting on it.

"Seriously," he said, looking into the boy's wardrobe, "how many outfits do you need? You're like a girl you have so much stuff."

Draco snorted. "You try living in the media and you'll find out."

"What, they memorize the clothes you wear?" asked Bill.

Draco stared at him as if it were basic knowledge. "It's kind of what they do. If you wear an outfit to a publicized board meeting, and wear it again in the space of a month, they are all over it, and I was just the kid tag-a-long. Try being one of the members."

"So you got a new outfit for every day?" asked Bill.

"Not anymore," said Draco. "I'm on a budget."

Bill glanced sideways at the boy before seeing the smirk.

"So now it's just an outfit for every day of the year," he said, carrying on the banter.

"And a month or so extra incase of emergencies," Draco agreed.

Bill tossed a pair of socks at his head. Draco ducked and then waved his wand, sending his clothes upstairs to his new room.

"That's one way to do it," said Bill, impressed at the method and that Draco had gotten every item in one go. He spotted the picture on the nightstand and crossed over, picking the silver frame up. He stared.

A tiny Draco was clinging to the back of a young man with yellow-blond hair and bright blue eyes. The young man was laughing and waving, the young Draco was waving as well, a bright smile on his face. They were in a park of sorts, and it must have been Muggle because they were wearing jeans and t-shirts.

"When was this?" asked Bill, turning to Draco who glanced over from putting a few miscellaneous objects into his trunk.

"A little over ten years ago," he said.

"He looks nice," said Bill. "You look happy."

Draco shrugged. Bill looked back down before handing the picture to Draco. For a minute he could have sworn Lukas was looking right at him as he grinned.

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So now that the D/G is well on it's way, we can start getting back to the action, starting next chapter. Woo-hoo! Please leave a review.


	12. A Run In During a Break In

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would sleep until eleven every morning. I'm currently sleep deprived. I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's note: I know, I've fifty-three minutes late AND I didn't reply to reviews. BUT, I have a lot of tests AND this chapter contains a lot of action, SO you should forgive me, read the chapter, AND enjoy it!

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Draco was about to go to bed when the owl came. He had been in his study, trying to tweak his algorithm in hopes to cut down on his suspect list, but to no avail. He had just left the room, giving up for the night, when the owl appeared through the Floo.

It wasn't a real owl, because the house had several wards up which didn't allow anyone but Order members contact, but one made of magic. Its sole purpose was to send a message, secretly, without any prying eyes or tracking charms. The owl flew straight to him and disappeared, dropping a letter into his hands.

He slipped his finger under the anonymous seal and opened the letter, immediately recognizing the handwriting.

I thought you would be interested in knowing that Theodore Nott left a tip at the Ministry yesterday about escapees hiding out at the Fortescue's place. Someone we both know wants to peek in. I'm bored to death over here. Any chance I could join you?

Kisses, Pansy

Draco had to smirk. Only Pansy would leave because she was bored.

He didn't think it was a trap. If it had been someone, say Theodore Nott Jr., he would have known immediately that it was just an ambush, but Pansy was different. She was smart, observant, and could be extremely philosophical at times. No doubt she had realized the incongruence of the Dark Lord's doctrine before he had even considered leaving, but she wouldn't leave unless she was absolutely sure she could get away with defecting. He wondered how much money she had managed to skim off the top while working in the Ministry.

He was happy to hear that she was leaving. He was not pleased with the information she had sent. There would only be one reason for Nott to leave the tip about the Fortescue's Manor, and that was if the Dark Lord was planning on sending in his own thief to raid the safe. If the goblet was there, which Draco doubted because he was nearly seventy percent sure that an Erus Feles had made off with the cup, then the Dark Lord would have his final Horcrux. If it wasn't, than the Feles could still gather a lot of data for the Dark Lord, such as when was the last time the safe was broken into and if a specific signature was left.

Draco had to get in that safe before the Dark Lord did.

He didn't even think of informing Bill or Dumbledore about this. If they were so against him going, than they wouldn't have to know he was gone. He went back to his study to grab his knife and then walked up to his new room on the third floor, as if he was going to bed, and changed into a set of plain black robes. He pulled a knit cap over his head, exchanged his legal wand for his unregistered one, and cast the silencing spell before he Apparated. Really, it was too easy.

He appeared in the center of Diagon Alley. It wasn't busy at this time of night, but there were a few pubs open with patrons. A few love-struck couples were wandering around the town.

He walked straight to the Public Library of Wizarding Britain, a large, marble building with nearly every wizarding text in the world as well as an entire floor dedicated to the old archives. The Library was always open, and even tonight, there were a few witches milling about, looking in the love potion section.

Draco walked up the curving staircase to the archives, skipping past the census and statistic section until he reached the door leading to the offices. All old homes were documented, the blue prints held in the Library vault where they were kept for official and emergency use, which meant Auror raids and the off-chance of a magical implosion, which could happen if the magic in the houses wasn't inspected every year.

He pulled out his wand, checked behind him quickly, and unlocked the door. He slipped through, making sure to lock the door behind him, and then stole silently down the hall. The door he wanted was on the far left and he had to unlock that one as well. During normal work hours, these offices were occupied, but as it was, Draco entered unchallenged and strode right over to the large shelf that took up the entire back row. It looked like a wine cabinet, but instead of holding bottles, it held large, rolled-up parchments with the architectural designs. He found the Fortescue blueprint and pulled it out, unrolling the parchment on the desk. He scanned the outline, knowing that he wouldn't find the safe labeling, but taking note of the position of the rooms and exits.

He rolled the parchment back up after only a minute, which was all he needed. He replaced the sketch and then left. Once he was out in the street, he Apparated again.

He appeared in his flat and wondered what Bill was going to say when he came back. Draco walked to his bedroom and flipped on the radio beside his bed that was tuned to the Auror frequency, something highly illegal. He listened to the reports as he pulled open his closet, making sure the raid wasn't starting without him.

The items he needed were hanging in the back of his closet. He changed quickly into the black trousers and long-sleeved black shirt. They looked ordinary enough, but the trousers were leather, charmed to be just as flexible as they were durable, and the shirt was a thick silk blend. Both items had several spells woven throughout, charms that caused unsuspecting eyes to slide over the material as well as muffling the brush of fabric.

The clothes had been expensive, but the supple, black-leather boots he pulled on next were even more so. A pair of thin black gloves were next, and lastly a the black cap that he shoved over his white-blond locks.

On the radio, he could hear the Aurors announcing their arrival at the Fortescue Manor and he flipped the receiver off. One last check to make sure he had everything he needed, and then he Apparated.

He arrived at the back of the Manor, right beyond the wards. The mansion was located on top of a gentle hill, with a perfectly kept lawn and drive. There were woods at the base of the hill in the back, providing ample cover from the Aurors who were gathering in the street below, but Draco still had to get up to the house, hopefully before the Aurors decided to enter. The Feles would enter with the rush of Aurors; he wanted to get there first.

He picked up a twig and walked towards the house, stopping just before the tree line ended. He tossed the twig.

The night was clear and cold, and the moon was bright. He could see the twig sail through the air, hitch ever-so-slightly, and there was a faint shimmer and then the twig landed into the lawn. It was unharmed.

Draco picked up a larger stick and extended it, taking a step forward and noting how the end of the stick glowed when it passed through the shield. It was a good shield, but not completely Erus Feles proof. He cast a charm on himself, one that temporarily turned his blood cold, which was not a particularly safe spell to use, but this was only going to take a minute.

Ignoring the freezing sensation, he stepped forward until he was on the edge of the ward, and then turned backwards. He leveled his wand at himself and said, 'Stupefy'.

The curse threw him backwards, even as unconsciousness took hold, and then he was hitting the shield and passing through it. The shield read his body temperature, and his lack of mental thought, and let him pass. The effect of passing through the shield pulled him back into consciousness even as he landed on the soft grass. He immediately ended the cold curse, breathing in relief once his blood returned to a normal temperature. He hated using that spell.

He rolled over onto his stomach, picking his head up to make sure that he was still alone on this side of the house and then got to his feet. He ran swiftly, lowly, to the building, getting into the shadow just as he saw a few Aurors slipping around to the back of the Manor to set up a guard there, just incase anyone tried to run.

Draco crept to one of the back doors and aimed a few, dark unlocking spells at the latch. The spells sparked slightly and he froze, glancing in the direction of the Aurors, but no one made a move to stop him. He continued, pulling the door open carefully, and then reaching out, feeling for another ward, but there wasn't. He stepped inside and slide the door shut.

It was dark inside, the moonlight being blocked by heavy drapes on the windows, only piercing through between the thin slivers where the drapes weren't pulled together. There were spells and potions a wizard could use to see in areas of limited light, but Draco avoided these. A side effect was increased sensitivity to light to such an extreme level so that even the spark of spells was blinding.

He allowed his eyes to adjust in the dark and mentally reviewed the blueprints of the mansion. There was a faint flicker up ahead of a wall torch, in the hall, and he started forward. The best place to store a safe was somewhere innocent, in the child's room, for example, but the Fortescue's were violently protective of their family and wouldn't stoop as low as the Death Eaters. They would most likely place it in the wine cellar or a disguised guest room.

Draco had seen the layouts of the castle, and seen how one guest room was situated right above a small drawing room that faced the back of the estate. He guessed the safe was somewhere between the two floors, an entrance in both the guest and drawing room, to allow for a quick escape. He needed to get into that drawing room before the Aurors entered.

He walked silently down the hall, taking the first right he came across and entering another corridor. The room was the third on the left, and he crept in just as the front door burst open. The entire house was bathed in a bright, white light and a projected voice could be heard through every room, even as the Aurors piled into the home, splitting into groups and banging open doors.

"Attention residents and staff, this is the Auror Department. Lay your wands down and do not attempt to resist. This is a legal, and authorized, raid on your home."

Draco shut the drawing room door and risked a light spell on his wand. He looked up at the ceiling, scouring the painted and sculpted surface for any detail of a trapdoor or entrance. The Aurors would have dropped all of the wards, meaning that while the safe would still be protected, the disguising charms would have dropped.

There. On the ceiling above the fireplace was the image of King Astephalon and Mage Corrings meeting in the Halls of Justice, except the two of them were born a century apart. The king had met with his advisors and, reportedly, the lineage of Cassandra. Draco clamored up on the mantel of the fireplace, having some difficulty because the ledge was narrow and smooth, but he managed to stand.

He tapped on the ceiling, hearing the hollow echo that meant the safe was most definitely right there. He raised both hands and pressed, muttering 'patefacio'.

The familiar dissolving sensation traveled from his finger tips to the rest of his body and his vision went black for a second. The next he found himself standing in front of a large mahogany door paneled with intricate carvings. The door had no handle or latch, and to the side of it was a gold basin on a marble stand.

The basin was where blood relatives could place a drop of their blood to open the door. Draco was not a relation, and he had to hurry because he had a feeling the Dark Lord's thief would be sneaking into the manor with the Aurors.

He noticed the carvings in the marble stand all around the basin, reading the wards that kept the door shut and then smirked. He traced his wand around the basin and muttered the disabling curse. The door slid open. He retraced the etchings, re-enabling the wards and then jumped through the entrance as the door slammed shut. The Nott's had a safe warded just like this one.

Draco stared at his surroundings. He was in a chamber lit by a few, ever-burning torches. The safe was well organized, something most hiding areas weren't, but the Fortesuce's were misers and misers always had to check upon their treasures. Piles of gold and old heirlooms heaped in corners wouldn't exactly make an inventory an easy thing.

Draco walked about the room once, searching for any signs of the goblet. There were several portraits on the wall that had been frozen with magic, making the subjects unable to visit these frames and report on their location. The portraits weren't blank, but holding faint outlines of the subjects. He recognized most of them.

There were mirrors leaning against the walls as well, large ones, enchanted ones that showed glimpses of possible futures and images of past memories, even if the memories were erased or altered by dark magic.

Tables coated in gold and silver were placed in rows, holding diamond encrusted candlesticks and centerpieces of flowers that were actually rubies and emeralds. Underneath the tables were chests overflowing with galleons and other sorts of gold and silver coins from various dynasties. Four ancient wardrobes lined the back walls, their doors open, displaying jewelry boxes with their lids propped open. These held some of the most expensive jewels in all of England: thick ropes of perfectly matching pearls, solid gold armbands that would stretch from wrist to elbow, crowns from every century, and signet rings from old wizarding families, more sacred than any of the above, not because of their jewels, but because of the power they represented.

Most signet rings had been lost, and only a few Pureblood families could flaunt theirs, the Malfoy's being one of them. In the sixteenth century there was an uprising of the peasant class. Most symbols of power (signet rings, coat of arms, crowns, etc) had been stolen, most melted down to make new jewelry, but some had found themselves in the hands of other Pureblood families who kept the rings and shields in their safes collecting dust.

If Draco had not grown up around such splendid wealth, he would have been too caught up in the riches to notice the door opening, but he was a Malfoy. Their own safe was three times the size of this, and he at meals at a table with just as many diamond candlesticks and fake, emerald flowers.

He slipped behind the door of one wardrobe, completely covered by the silver-plated wood. He was in a darker corner, which allowed him to peer out behind the door without worry of being caught.

Two figures entered, one shoved forward by the other, hands bound behind his back. The captive was most likely one of the Fortescue's used to open the door, which was not a move usually taken by a Feles because the Aurors counted the family members to make sure that each was accounted for and not lying in wait in an ambush. The bound man was bleeding, a testament to the purpose of his capture.

"Where is it?" the Feles demanded.

"I don't know!" the man half-sobbed.

That earned him a kick in the ribs. The man doubled over as best he could.

"Don't try my patience! Where is it?"

"I already told you a thousand times. I don't know!"

"Crucio!"

The man screamed, his body convulsing, arms straining against his bonds. Draco didn't even flinch, something which relieved him. He was afraid he was getting a little soft from his association with the Order members.

The curse was ended.

"One more chance to tell me."

The man just sobbed. He was picked up by his shirt collar and flung into a table. He hit with a crack, a rib had been broken. He fell to the floor along with several candlesticks and the clatter of golden plates. The Feles leveled a wand at the man.

"You appear to have out lived your usefulness then. Goodbye."

The Feles began to speak the killing curse, but Draco swung the door away and stepped out, flicking his wand sharply.

"Wha-?" the Feles began, but then Draco caught his wand out of the air and took a step forward into the light.

"Keep your hands in the air," said Draco.

The thief hesitated. Draco gave a short rap of his wand and the man yelled at the sudden sting of fire the curse caused.

"Into the air," Draco repeated.

The thief finally capitulated, glaring from behind his mask. Draco flicked his wand and the mask flew off.

"Edgerton Raines," said Draco. "Why am I actually surprised?"

"Who are you?" Raines demanded, not recognizing him in the dim lighting and without the tell-tale blond of his hair.

"That is a fact you do not need to know," said Draco. "What you should know is that I will kill you right here and right now if you don't obey my instructions to the fullest degree, do you understand?"

"Yes," said Raines, nodding his head, but grudgingly.

"Good," said Draco. "I want you to take the chains off of your prisoner."

"I can't without my wand."

"Don't be ridiculous. You have a key."

Raines grit his teeth and reached into his pocket.

"While you are releasing your hostage, how did a small time petty crook like yourself get into the Fortescue's home?" asked Draco.

"With him," said Raines darkly, jerking his head towards his captive. "He's a Fortescue so the wards let me through."

"You want me to believe that you captured a man all by yourself? Please, you went to Azkaban when you couldn't even break into a pawn shop and accidentally killed the owner because you fell on top of him as you tumbled off the roof. Who gave you the idea of kidnapping a Fortescue?"

Raines had pulled out the key and he looked to Draco, his expression twisted.

"Unlock him," Draco prodded. "And answer my question."

Raines started forward, but then he glanced behind Draco, his eyes fixating on something. Draco whirled around, catching a glimpse of motion from his peripheral vision, but then a large, silver candlestick smashed into his temple and the room exploded into tiny bursts of light.

He was aware that he hit the floor, but vaguely, as if he was in a dream. There were hands pulling away his wand and the wand he had taken from Raines, and then hands were searching his clothing, much more intimately than necessary. He just wanted it to stop so he could sink into the darkness that was welling up from the throbbing in the side of his head.

He was shoved over and consciousness came in bursts. There were voices – darkness. He was propped up against something, his wrists were tied tight – darkness. There was the sound of someone screaming, the captive again – darkness. Darkness – a cold splash on his face. His eyes blinked open and the world was doubling and weaving, but then he blinked again and the world came into focus.

A woman was bent over him, a woman with blonde hair and a too-tight, too-low leather suit with the same features as his own.

"Well, hello there, Draco," said Claire Jameson, her mouth curled in a smug little smile. Her eyes were dilated; she was using a night-vision charm.

"Claire," said Draco, returning the smirk as he took stock of his condition. "What brings you here? Have you shown the Dark Lord that outfit yet?"

"He bought it for me specifically," said Claire, running her hands over the bodice. "And speaking of attire, you're looking quite good yourself, a lot better than the last time I saw you, all bloody and with a hole in your arm."

Draco was leaning against a table leg, his hands tied behind his back around the post. He couldn't move the table, it was simply too heavy and the rope around his wrists were too tight for him to slip out of and even holding still caused his skin to chafe.

"I feel better too," he said, ignoring the fact that his left temple was throbbing and a bit of warm liquid trickled down his cheek and neck.

"That's really good," said Claire, giving him a seductive smile. "Feel up to answering some questions?"

"You'll have to give me a few minutes," said Draco. "My head hurts."

Claire laughed. Draco glanced around to see that Raines was in the corner of the room, tossing artifacts from chests as he searched for the goblet. The hostage was lying a bit further away, looking close to unconsciousness but he was staring at Draco in shock. Draco's hat was off, lying on the ground and the man most likely recognized him as Draco recognized Florean Fortescue, disinherited from his family and owner of the best ice-cream shop in Diagon Alley. He turned back to Claire.

"You kidnapped the nice ice-cream man?" he asked in disbelief and disapproval.

"It was necessary," said Claire.

"Oh come on," said Draco. "You could break into the safe without having family blood. Don't play coy."

"Well yes, I could," said Claire. "But Eddie here couldn't, and I needed a distraction to catch you."

"To catch me," said Draco.

"We know someone from the Ministry contacted you or one of the Order members. I figured that they would send you to investigate, seeing as you are a genius and all. We weren't able to figure out who your contact is, but we'll keep our eyes open. Anyway, I came in with that."

Claire pointed to a silvery piece of material on the floor by Florean Fortescue. It was an invisibility cloak, not as nice as the one belonging to Harry Potter, but it still worked perfectly in low-light conditions, and if the user didn't move about too much.

"Not bad," said Draco.

"Glad you think so," said Claire. "Now, you're going to do me a favor before I drag you back to Voldemort."

"Don't count on it," said Draco.

Claire smiled. "Oh, Draco, I know you will. You see, if you don't, I'm going to put dear-old Florean in some real pain, pain that will prevent him from struggling to scoop out hard ice-cream from large cans for the rest of his life. You wouldn't want that on your conscience, would you? Denying all those cure little kids from having sundaes?"

"Truly," said Draco, in mock awe, "you are more cruel than even I could imagine." He gave a sigh of defeat. "Very well, ask your questions. I shall provide you with answers."

"The correct answers," said Claire. "I'll know if you were lying."

Draco smirked again, his expression darkening. "Don't count on it."

She gave him a challenging smile in return. "I know that you are here in hopes of either finding the goblet, or trying to figure out when it was stolen. I need to know what you've come up with."

"Nothing yet," said Draco. "I didn't have time to check."

"Figure it out now."

"I need to examine the door and for that I need my wand."

"Not a chance."

"Had to try."

"I know, now get down to work before I put the Cruciatus on Fortescue for the fourth time tonight. That might start some irreparable damage."

Draco sighed and let his head fall back against the post of the table. His head was really killing him.

"Cast the prior incantum on the door," he said.

"That's it?" asked Claire.

"No, that's not it," said Draco, rolling his eyes. "Stop asking questions and just do what I say."

"You really aren't in the position to be making demands."

"Of course I am. I have something you need, now cast the spell."

Claire smiled. "I love it when you start ordering me about," she said, licking her lips.

She got up and cast the spell on the door.

"Now what?" she asked.

"Get ready," said Draco. "You have to cast these in quick succession."

He rattled off a list of spells, revealing spells, amplifying spells, signature spells, and a few extra that weren't necessary at all. He had to keep her busy and so he made it as time consuming as possible as he reached for the knife in his pocket, shifting and straining against his bonds. Raines wasn't a problem. He was too over-whelmed with the magnitude of the jewels to pay any attention.

"Now," said Draco, finally managing to pull the knife out and hold it behind the table leg. "Prior incantum again."

Claire did so and lines of magic appeared on the door in different colors and intensities. Draco sawed at the rope, trying to cut the bonds more than his fingers, but to his surprise, even when the blade slipped, he just felt cold steel, not the thin fire of a cut. In contrast, the rope fell away like it was yarn. He kept his hands behind his back as Claire turned to him.

"What does it mean?" she asked, gesturing to the faint marks on the door.

The marks were lines of different colored spells, the age in direct proportion to how brightly they were lit.

"Five years ago," said Draco.

"What?" asked Claire.

"Five years ago was when this safe was last broken into. Look at the blue lines, see how they crisscross the door?"

"What does it mean?"

"It's a ward-breaker. You're going to have to let me up so I can examine it more closely."

"I am going to examine it," said Claire. "You are going to tell me what I am looking for."

"Patterns within the lines," said Draco. "Like grains of wood."

"I see it," said Claire. "Ripples, extending out from the start of the line. What does it mean?"

"That's a spell most commonly used on tombs," said Draco. "You're looking for a Feles who once was involved in tomb-raiding."

"Five years ago," repeated Claire.

"Five years ago," agreed Draco.

He lied. That spell wouldn't have worked on that door. The blue lines were just the residue left over from a failed attempt. The other marks were over twenty years old, before the horcrux had been a horcrux. It had never been here.

"Alright," said Claire, "let's get you to Voldemort. Don't you even think about trying anything, or I'll kill Florean, got that?"

"Yeah, sure," said Draco.

"Raines," Claire ordered, "bring him." She jerked her head at Draco.

"What about the other one?"

Claire glanced over at Florean and shrugged. "Leave him here. He can find his own way out or rot."

Draco knew Florean wouldn't be able to get out. He wasn't the patriarch of the family, meaning he could get in, but not out without proper allowance. It was a tactic used to prevent theft in the family. Florean knew that too and he tried to get up, tried to speak. Claire pointed her wand at him.

"Crucio."

Florean screamed just as Raines came over to Draco. The man was distracted with the torture, and with the very expensive looking vase of emerald-stemmed roses cut from rubies the size of a child's hand. He cast the untying charm, which did nothing because the ropes were already cut and bent down to jerk Draco to his feet. Draco allowed the man to pull him up, but then he moved, grabbing Raines' arm and twisting, forcing it behind the man's back. He had his knife to the man's throat before the thief knew what was happening.

He took the man's wand and Claire cut the curse on Florean, turning to Draco, eyebrows raised.

"You underestimate me," said Draco. "Drop your wand."

"Or what?" asked Claire. "Are you going to kill him?"

"If you don't cooperate, then yes."

Raines whimpered.

"Alright," said Claire, lowering her wand a fraction. "Let's see what we can work out."

"How about you leave the way you came, right now, taking nothing with you," said Draco.

Claire laughed and whipped her wand towards Draco. "Avada Kedavra!"

Of course, Draco was covered by Raines, but to Claire, the other man was just a tool and she needed him out of the way to get to Draco.

As soon as the word was forming, Draco was shoving Raines away and jumping back behind a gold statue of an Egyptian seer. Raines tried to run, but he wasn't fast enough. The green light hit him and he fell. Draco swore, clutching the man's wand in his right hand, knife in his left.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Draco?" asked Claire. "I still have Florean. Drop your wand and knife and come out."

"Lux immortalis," Draco whispered, shutting his eyes tightly. Even so, he could still see red through his eyelids as the white light streamed from his wand.

He could hear Claire's scream and he immediately ran for Florean, his eyes still squeezed shut but calling up the image of the room in his mind, noting the position of every table and coin and trying to be as silent as possible. Claire was screaming off curses now, magic ricocheting across tables and walls, but the pain from the light and her night vision kept her staggering.

While Draco had perfect memory of the room, he wasn't exactly sure how large his steps were and so he fumbled a bit for the ice-cream vendor. Florean hadn't had night vision and so while the light had temporarily blinded him, there was no pain. The man was conscious enough to let Draco help him over to the side of a room behind a large chest.

Draco counted to ten before cracking his left eye open. The light had died out and he opened his eyes completely, turning to see Claire reaching for a table, eyes squeezed shut.

Draco waved his, or rather, Raines', wand and Claire's wand and his own flew from Claire's fingers to his hand. She jerked, eyes open but not focusing on anything.

"You haven't won," she said.

"Seems to me like I did. I lived, rescued the hostage, and one of the bad guys is dead," said Draco.

She sneered and plunged her hand into her pocket. She was whisked away by Portkey.

Draco turned to Florean, easing the man onto an ornate half-throne by the wall.

"Hold still for a second," he said. "This may sting just a bit."

He cast the cure for the blindness and Florean stiffened but then blinked, his eyes latching onto Draco's face.

"Is she gone?"

"Yeah, she had a Portkey."

"Are you alright?"

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"Your head is bleeding."

"It's fine. How are you doing?"

Florean hesitated before answer. "I'll live," he said carefully.

Draco smirked. "Good answer."

He crossed back over to the door and cast the counter to the ward that kept unexpected visitors in. He left it open as he crossed to the trapdoor at the floor and picked up the top before letting it shut again. He walked back in.

"Aurors are still here," he said. "We'll have to wait a bit before leaving, if that's alright with you. I couldn't create a Portkey in these wards and I'm pretty sure Apparating isn't an option. Can you hold on for a while longer?"

"You aren't with the Aurors?"

Draco snorted.

"With Dumbledore and his group then?" asked Florean. "I've heard rumors."

"Yes and no," Draco hedged.

Florean nodded. "I wouldn't have thought it, if not for tonight. Thank you."

Draco shrugged a shoulder.

"If there's anything I can do for you," said Florean, "ever, just let me know."

"Actually," said Draco, "there is something." He walked over to the wardrobe on the far left and plucked and ruby and signet ring from the holder. "Mind if I return this to the original owners?"

Florean shook his head. "Not at all."

It took two hours for the Aurors to leave, and then Draco helped Florean out of his childhood home. He dropped him off at St. Mungo's, not staying to be recognized and then, after making sure his hat was covering the bloodstains on his cheek, stopped at the Post Office to send Pansy a letter warning her that the Dark Lord was aware of her activities. He charmed it to be unreadable to anyone but her.

By then, it was early morning, going past seven. Draco hoped he wasn't missed yet, but if he was quick, he could stop off at his flat to clean up and see to his head before making a Portkey back to his room. He was familiar enough with the wards on the house for that, but Apparating in was still an impossibility.

Draco had never been happier to see his flat, and he walked straight to the bathroom, pulling off his hat, before backtracking to the kitchen where he had seen, but not immediately registered, the parchment lying on his table. The writing was Bill's.

"Shit," he said, and picked it up, reading the 'You are in such trouble' before the Portkey took hold of him. "Shit," he said again as he was pulled into the dining room of the Order of the Phoenix.

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Bill was waiting at the dining room table, had been since five that morning. He and Fleur had moved themselves into Draco's old room, to give the living room back to the rest of the house, and Lukas still wasn't sleeping all the way through the night. It had been Bill's turn to get their son, and afterwards he hadn't been able to sleep.

He had gone downstairs and wandered into Draco's study, intent on looking over the Runes again when he had noticed the knife was missing from its usual place on the bookshelf. He hadn't thought much of it, but for some reason, he had felt uneasy.

He walked back up to Draco's new room on the third floor and unlocked the door. Draco wasn't there.

Bill had immediately informed Dumbledore, who had come right over, and they had been waiting ever since. Kingsley and Sirius had come down at six-thirty and been filled in, and now Bill was just waiting, trying to keep from glancing at the clock every twenty seconds.

He had just taken a sip of the coffee Kingsley had placed in front of him when Draco appeared, stepping quickly to catch his balance, obviously not prepared for the Portkey. Draco turned, taking in the gathered faces. Bill took in the bruise on the side of Draco's face.

"Shit," Draco groaned, running a hand over his face. He looked to Bill again, sighed, and dropped into a chair. "Well?" he asked belligerently. "Go ahead. Lecture."

To Bill's left, Sirius let out a smothered chuckle and Kingsley suppressed a grin. Dumbledore twinkled and Bill and Draco. Bill got up and walked into the kitchen, knowing that lecturing Draco right then would just make the kid defensive. He came back a few minutes later with a cup of tea and a breakfast plate.

"Hungry?" he asked Draco.

Draco hesitated, his eyes scanning Bill's features as if to see when the reprimand was going to come. Bill set the food down in front of the teen and then pulled up a chair.

"What did you do to your head?" he asked, pushing the white strands aside so he could ascertain the damage.

"I did nothing," said Draco, flinching away from his touch and stabbing at a tomato on his plate. "I got hit with a candlestick."

"And how did that happen?"

Draco shrugged. "You want me to explain now or do you want to yell first?"

"I'm not going to yell," said Bill. "I am going to tell you that I was very, very worried and that I found my first grey hair today."

His tone was light, but serious. Draco shifted, fiddling with the food on his plate.

"Dumbledore," said Bill, "has a few words about following orders that you need to listen to."

Bill saw Draco glance up to the Headmaster before returning his gaze to his plate.

"We did not wish you to go for good reason, Draco," he began.

"Something came up," said Draco, interrupting. "I got a letter saying that Nott was the one who had made the tip, which mean the Dark Lord was searching for the Horcrux. If it had been there, he would have taken it."

Bill frowned. "Who told you-?"

"Someone," said Draco. "I'm not free to give a name just yet."

"Why didn't you share this with us?" asked Dumbledore. "We understand the need for privacy and would not have questioned your contact."

"Because you were completely against the idea from the start."

"We weren't against the idea," said Bill. "We were against sending you in last minute without proper back up."

"William is right," said Dumbledore. "Had you come to us with this information we would have agreed with your assessment, that immediate action was necessary. I have certain strings I can pull at the Ministry, one's which would have protected you. Just because we do not agree with you upon every occasion, does not mean we cannot determine between unacceptable and acceptable risk. I have been doing this for quite some time before you were born, and I think you need to start trusting us some more, hmm?"

Bill turned to Draco, seeing the pale flush of his cheeks. Draco nodded.

"We only want to keep you as safe as possible," said Dumbledore, the sparkle returning to his eyes. "Now, it seems you have quite the adventure to tell us."

The white-blond gave a half-shrug and looked up, noting how Sirius and Kingsley had both leaned in , obviously quite interested in the events that had transpired. Draco seemed a little thrown by their interest, but he shrugged again.

"I got the letter last night which said Nott was the one who had given the tip, so I knew the Dark Lord would be looking for his Horcrux. I went to the library to look over the blueprints and stopped at my flat to get my things."

He was obviously referring to his outfit. He looked as if he could be part of a rock band.

"Getting in the house was easy enough, and I managed to get into the safe before the Erus Feles. I made certain that the Horcrux wasn't there and then the Feles came in, Edgerton Raines. He had Florean Fortescue with him to get in the wards. Florean is disinherited but not disowned so his blood still broke through the wards."

"Wait," said Kingsley. "I know Raines. He's not smart enough to kidnap someone and use their blood for wards."

Draco nodded. "I know. I should have known something was off, but I just figured someone would have told him what to do. I didn't see anyone else, and when Raines made to off Fortescue, I went in. That's when Claire Jameson hit me with a candlestick."

"Claire?" asked Bill, remembering the blonde woman who had turned him over to Voldemort. That was a day he could go without recalling.

Draco grimaced. "Yeah. She had an invisibility cloak, nothing too-fancy and not completely invisible, but it didn't have to be because it was dim in the room."

"What did you do?" asked Sirius, looking completely enthralled in the story.

"Passed out," said Draco. "I woke up tied to a table. I had a knife on me though, so after feeding her some wrong information, I cut myself loose and we had a small skirmish. Raines is dead, Claire hit him with an Avada and then when I blinded her night vision, she Portkeyed out. Fortescue and I had to wait for the Aurors to leave and then I took him to St. Mungo's."

Draco shrugged again, as if it were no big deal. Bill wished he wouldn't. He had been knocked unconscious for Merlin's sake; he could have been taken to Voldemort right then.

"I'm glad you're alright," he told the teen, "but I swear to Merlin, you ever disappear again without proper permission or back up, I'm putting a leash on you, understand?"

Draco rolled his eyes and sipped at his tea before returning to his breakfast. He must be hungry; Bill had never seen him eat so quickly, or so much without complaining.

"I'll have Mum take a look at your head," Bill said, eyeing the impressive bruise. It was a dark blue and had spread from his cheek up to his forehead. The bruise was black over his temple.

"It's fine," said Draco. "Just a mild concussion. I'll set an alarm when I go to bed to wake up every hour or so."

"You will not," said Bill. "I'm going to wake you up myself, but I do want my Mum to look this over."

Draco shook his head. "Bill, it's fine, really."

Bill knew that Draco was skittish around Molly Weasley, and mothers in general, but he didn't realize it was by so much. Or maybe it was just the incident of the Angel-Flight that had him further on edge. Still, Bill's mother had been studying for her Healer's license before she had gotten pregnant with him and he wanted to be sure that Draco was alright.

"If you get me the first aid kit," said Kingsley, "I can check him over and then he can go right to bed. I take required medical seminars every year."

The Auror no doubt remembered that Narcissa had been the one to drug Draco and must understand the teen's reluctance to put himself in the care of another mother.

Bill looked to Draco and the teen gave a short nod.

"Afterwards, straight to bed," said Bill. "I'll wake you up to check on you."

Draco nodded again and then sipped at his tea. Bill looked over when Sirius gave a chuckle, turning to the white-blond.

"You do realize you got taken out by a girl, right?"

Bill laughed along with the rest of the table. The side of Draco's lip quirked up.

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Did you find the chapter exciting? Did you find the search for the Horcrux exciting? Did you find Draco in leather pants exciting? If you answer yes for any of the above, please leave a review!


	13. An Unexpected Visitor

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own a yummy mocha I just made, mmm!

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"Hey, Draco."

The voice called him back from blessed unconsciousness but Draco already recognized the voice, recognized there was no threat and so he ignored it.

"Draco."

A hand reached out and shook his shoulder lightly. Draco groaned and rolled over onto his stomach.

"Draco, you need to wake up."

Draco opened his eyes to see Bill crouched by his bed.

"What's your name?" asked Bill, trying to determine if he had any brain damage from the concussion.

Draco closed his eyes and buried his face in the pillow. "Draco Malfoy," he said, voice muffled.

"What day is it?"

"December fifteenth."

"Who's the Minister of Magic?"

"Fudge."

"Good," said Bill. "I'll be back in an hour."

Draco groaned, but fell back asleep as soon as the door was shut. It felt like five minutes later when Bill woke him again. Draco wondered how upset Bill would be if he put up a few locking charms on the door. He knew the mental check was for his own good, but it was more than irritating.

"What day is?" Bill asked.

"Same day as last time," said Draco, burying his face in his pillow.

"Who's the Minister of Magic?"

"Someone who shouldn't be."

"What's your name?"

Draco rolled his eyes, but it didn't do any good. He was staring at his pillowcase. "Even if I didn't know, you've been calling me Draco, so that must be it."

"Good," said Bill. "I'll check on you in another hour."

Draco moaned and rolled onto his side away from Bill.

"You only have yourself to blame," said Bill.

"Yes, because I hit myself with a candlestick," muttered Draco. He fell back asleep and straight into REM. He dreamed a bit about a house he had to break into, but someone kept pulling him back, and every time he turned around, the person disappeared and a candlestick was jabbed into his side. He woke up enough to roll onto his back because the leather trousers he hadn't bothered to take off were a tad uncomfortable to sleep in, but that was all.

The next time he woke up was because a soft hand was running over his arm, gently coaxing him from slumber.

"Hey, Draco? You awake?"

The voice was soft as well and then the hand moved to his shoulder, rubbing gently. He blinked open his eyes to see Ginny kneeling by his bed with a small smile on her face. The smile grew when she saw his eyes open.

"Hi," she said.

"Hey," he said back.

She glanced at a paper in her hand. "What city was the capital of wizarding Persia for the most consecutive years?"

"Are you serious?" asked Draco.

She grinned. "Yup, and I'm not leaving until you answer the questions. Consider it retribution for running off in the middle of the night and risking capture by our kinky ex-student teacher."

"Fair enough," said Draco. "Hysteria has the most consecutive years, but Rend was the capital for the longest time cumulatively."

"Correct," said Ginny. "What are the four types of the blood-rose plant and how do they act differently in a love potion?"

"Coccinus, causes feelings of euphoria; crocus, causes obsession; curalium, causes sexual desire; and candidus causes a dream-like state."

"How many bricks were used to build Cassandra's temple?"

"Eleven million, two hundred thousand and eight."

"I'm impressed," said Ginny.

Draco smirked but then Ginny's smile faded and her eyes darkened. Draco pushed himself up, frowning at the change.

"What's wrong?"

Ginny hesitated before answering.

"I don't want to sound…clingy or overly concerned, and I know that you can take care of yourself, but I don't want to come downstairs to breakfast to find my boyfriend with bruise over half his face and a concussion because he snuck out in the middle of the night without telling anyone and nearly got taken to Voldemort. It's…frightening. I don't want that to happen again."

"So what? You want me to tell you the next time I sneak out to go fight the Dark Lord?" asked Draco, his voice cool because he wasn't used to feeling guilty because of a girl.

Ginny withdrew, he could see it in her eyes even if she hadn't leaned back, moving her hand from the bed. Draco mentally swore.

"I didn't mean it like that," he amended, sitting up completely now, but he sat up too quickly, causing the blood to drain from his head and a bout of dizziness washed over him. He raised a hand to his head, trying to pretend that he was just rubbing his face, but his hand brushed his temple sending a bolt of pain straight through his brain. "Shit!" he hissed.

Ginny immediately reached out to him, sitting on the bed and laying a tentative hand on his shoulder. "You alright?" she asked, trying to pull his hand from his temple so she could see if he had managed to injure himself further.

"I'm fine," said Draco, letting her see the bruise.

She winced sympathetically. "Does it feel any better?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause. Ginny looked over at him and then giggled.

"I can't believe you got brained by Claire Jameson, student teacher extraordinaire."

Draco glared, but that just made her laugh harder, covering her mouth with her hand. Draco rolled his eyes and then shifted so that he was leaning against the headboard of the bed. He drew up his feet so that Ginny could have more room to sit. He was suddenly glad that he hadn't decided to sleep under the covers because he had never been one for such intimacy.

He hadn't changed though and Ginny raised her eyebrows, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"I like the leather," she said, neutrally, but her eyes were sparkling.

He raised his own eyebrow. "Slightly kinky for a Weasley, isn't it?"

"Slightly undignified for a Malfoy, isn't it?" she returned.

He shrugged. "Dignity has its place."

"And tight leather trousers their own?"

"They are not tight," he said.

She looked him over again and, a little unnerved, he tossed a pillow at her head. She caught it and giggled some more.

"Pillow fighting in leather pants? And you said I was kinky?"

Draco had to consciously keep his mind from straying down a path he definitely did not want to travel and he glared at Ginny.

"Indecent woman," he muttered.

She just grinned unrepentantly and hugged the pillow to her chest, shifting to sit cross-legged in front of him.

"I'm glad you saved Florean," she said, suddenly serious again.

"His ice cream is good," Draco agreed.

"That's not what I mean," said Ginny.

He knew; she continued.

"I don't like the idea of you going off and getting hurt or worse, but that doesn't mean I don't agree with what you did."

He shifted, toying with the edge of the blanket.

"I'm not sorry that I went," Draco said. "I know that Bill and Dumbledore would have liked to know, and I understand that now, but that doesn't mean I'm always going to listen to them. I don't think they're always right, or taking enough risks, and if that means I end up taking the risks for them, I'm alright with that." He paused for a moment before looking up at her. "If I did tell you when I was leaving, you couldn't tell, not unless it was clear something went wrong."

"I'm pretty sure they would figure it out by then anyway."

Draco nodded. "Probably." He went back to tugging at the edge of the blanket.

"I wouldn't tell," said Ginny.

He looked up at her, eyebrow raised, question evident.

"I wouldn't," she said again, and he knew she was telling the truth. "I wouldn't like you as much if you always did follow everyone's advice."

He tilted his head to the side before letting a smirk turn the corner of his mouth up.

"You really wouldn't be happy with Potter, would you?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I think I could be happy, but I wouldn't be content. I wouldn't be able to settle after all of this; I'd be bored out of my mind."

Draco stopped his mouth from upturning any further. "I can see that," he said. "Can't explain it yet though."

"Explain what?"

"You're a Weasley. You should be happy with him, but for some reason, some crazy, screwed-up reason, you're not. It's almost like you're-," but then he stopped himself, because he was going to say 'darker', but that didn't seem to fit either. She was, though, but not always, not even most of the time, not even in occasion. He could see that bit of her that set her apart, but she had integrated it with the rest of her personality so that it was fluid, like the glints of gold in her hair that only were noticeable in the candlelight, and were only pronounced directly beside a fire.

"Almost what?" asked Ginny.

Draco shook his head, not sure anymore. For one split second, he wondered if he even wanted to know, but the next instant, the feeling was gone.

"Nothing," he said, and then stifled a yawn.

"You should get some sleep," said Ginny.

"I was sleeping. You woke me up."

She wasn't at all chastised. "Maybe next time you should ask for the backup they would have provided."

"I didn't think they would provide it," said Draco. "If I had known, believe me, I would have taken it." He yawned again.

Ginny tossed the pillow back to him and got up. "I'll leave you to sleep then. Mum says you should be alright if you've been coherent these times, so you can rest easy."

"Appreciate it," said Draco.

She smiled, hesitated for a second, and then stepped close to kiss the side of his mouth. It was quick, and then she was stepping back, blushing slightly. "Sleep well."

And then she was gone and the door was closing behind her. Draco lay back, reaching his hand up to brush where she had kissed before settling into bed. He closed his eyes and drifted off.

When he woke up on his own, he knew not a lot of time had passed. A glance at the clock showed that it was half past noon, and he was bored with bed. He got up, stretching out the kinks in his neck. He decided that sleeping in leather was an experience not to be repeated and quickly shod the charmed clothing. He pulled on a comfortable pair of jeans and a soft t-shirt. It was chilly in the house so he added a tight black jumper and a pair of socks.

He wandered downstairs to find lunch on the table, chicken soup and sandwiches, and the rest of the family eating.

"Nice face," said Ron, kicking out the only empty chair beside him.

"Back at you," said Draco, sliding into the seat.

Fred and George laughed. Charlie laughed as well but was then interrupted by a violent sneeze.

"Eat your soup," said Mrs. Weasley. "And then I want you to take a dose of cold suppressant."

"I'm fine, mum," said Charlie, rolling his eyes to Bill, but good-naturedly.

"And stay away from Lukas. We can't have you getting the baby sick."

"Yes, mum," said Charlie.

Hermione passed Draco the large bowl of soup and he ladled some into his bowl.

"And how about you, Draco?" asked Mrs. Weasley. "How's your head feeling?"

Draco nodded, caught off-guard by the attention. "Better."

She frowned. "It's still a bit swollen. I'm going to get you an anti-swelling cream." And she got up right then.

"I'm fine," said Draco, not wanting to interrupt the meal, and not exactly feeling comfortable with the woman just then. He thought he had his inane apprehension under control, but his mind was overactive, forming connections where there weren't any. It was one of the problems with being a genius, with having a, for all intents and purposes, perfect memory.

Now, every time the Weasley mother offered him food, or gave him medicine, he couldn't help but recall the other moments with his mother, the meals she had given him laced with Angel-Flight. His cravings had faded since his latest interactions with the drug, but that just made him even more wary, fearful of falling to the potion again.

Mrs. Weasley didn't even acknowledge that he had spoken and left to collect the ointment. She was back a moment later, crossing over to Draco.

"Tilt your head up to the light," she said.

"I can do it," said Draco quickly.

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Weasley. "Now tip your head back so I can see your bruise better."

"Really," Draco started, but then she reached out and grasped his chin, tilting his head back and to the side.

There were a few chuckles and snorts at the table. Draco gripped the edge of his chair, letting the rest of his body remain relaxed so no one could tell just how badly he wanted to leave. The only times his mother had touched him had been to prod him forward to the piano during a tea party, or to nudge him out of the way when she was finally making conversation with her target for the day. She had pulled him onto her lap once when he was five for a family photo, the first time he had been allowed to touch her in anyway, the first time he had really met her.

His father was being recognized as one of the most influential private investors in a business journal and he wanted the photo to reflect a perfect life. Narcissa had wanted to one-up the other women in her social circle. The picture had achieved that. Lucius still had it in his study, the photo showing him standing behind Narcissa, proudly, his hand reaching around his wife because right there in the picture was the only time he truly owned her. Narcissa, seated, in flowing pale blue robes with her golden curls falling down her back, a Greek goddess. Draco sitting on her lap, cheeks pink because Narcissa had pinched them moments before to make him look sweeter, his silver eyes large and bright, but on a second glance, far too somber for a boy of five.

He barely felt the painful brush of Mrs. Weasley's fingers over the bruise because all he could feel was the touch, the sweep of her fingers as she pushed his hair to the side. Narcissa had brushed his hair once, unnecessarily. They were in the park because so was Stefan Van Sutton and his toddler daughter. Stefan was a doting father and recent widower. Narcissa played the part of doting mother, unloved by her husband. Draco had been going on seven; he only knew vaguely what his mother was doing but he had enjoyed her attentions for that afternoon.

He had found out a few months later what his mother's intentions had been, and suddenly he felt used, betrayed, and guilty for liking the attention she gave him when she was just hurting Lucius, the parent who actually cared for him. He had hated her ever since.

"There," said Mrs. Weasley stepping away. "All set."

He gave her a curt nod, but was spared having to thank her because the Floo flared to life and Dumbledore stepped through.

"We have another guest," Dumbledore announced, and then stepped aside to allow another figure to pass through, a figure with long black hair, wearing a scandalously short robe and skirt outfit with dangerously high black heals. She tossed her hair back from her head; Draco got to his feet.

"Pansy?" he asked, completely shocked.

"Darling," said Pansy, clicking over to him on her heels. She grabbed his hands and kissed him soundly on the mouth.

Draco was a genius and he noticed several things at the same time. First, Pansy's lips felt good against his own, but wrong. They were suddenly too full, too sticky with lip gloss, and she wasn't Ginny. Secondly, the Weasley family had been shocked when Pansy came through, but now they were aghast. Thirdly, the room was completely silent and he could feel outraged gazes focused on him.

He noticed all of that in less than a second, and then he found the proper motor neurons to contact. He stepped back from this kiss, just as startled as the rest of the Weasleys. Usually Pansy did not initiate physical intimacy before drawing out guidelines for how long she was going to be with him and who she was going after next.

Pansy raised an eyebrow at him, amused at his reaction. There was still a stunned silence in the room, and Draco decided to deal with the most important things first. He looked to Pansy.

"You defected," he said.

She shrugged a shoulder and the sleeve of her outer robe slipped down to reveal the lacy straps of her purple undershirt, though it hardly deserved the name.

"I got your message and figured now was as good a time as any. I'm looking into a flat myself, but my plans aren't completely settled so I talked to the Headmaster and he said I could come on over, if it was alright with Harry." Here Pansy turned, easily spotting Potter's dark hair among the red. "Harry, honey, it is alright if I crash here for a few nights, isn't it? I could sleep on a couch, or just share someone's bed, I don't mind."

The last was accompanied with a suggestive smile and Draco was half-amused, half-uncomfortable at the reactions. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were staring at the girl in shock, Bill was giving Draco a concerned look, Ron was trying not to stare, Fleur looked as if she very much wanted to laugh, as she and Pansy were good friends, and Harry looked distinctly discomfited. Draco avoided looking at Ginny.

"I think we have a room free, actually," he said mumbled, cheeks going red.

"Thank you so much," said Pansy. "I totally owe you one." She gave Harry a wink and then turned back to Draco. "Introduce me?" she asked.

"Of course," said Draco. "Pansy, this is Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. You know Bill and Fleur, their baby is upstairs sleeping."

"You have a baby?" Pansy exclaimed, turning to Fleur. "Boy or girl?"

"Boy," said Fleur. "I'll let you meet him after lunch."

Pansy beamed.

"And that's Charlie, second oldest," said Draco. "And you know the rest, Fred, George, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny," here he finally made eye contact with Ginny who's eyes were darkened, wary at Pansy's arrival. Draco turned back to Pansy, saying delicately, "Ginny and I are dating."

Pansy's eyebrows shot up. "You're what?" asked Pansy, incredulous.

"We're dating," said Ginny, with just enough levity in her voice to tell the other girl that she would not tolerate any indiscretion on her part, but Pansy appeared not to notice. She turned to Draco and squealed. Draco had just enough presence of mind to wrap his arms around her as Pansy launched herself into his arms, but not like she usually did, with one thing in mind. It was almost as if she was celebrating.

"I told you," said Pansy, squeezing him tight. She released him with a chaste kiss on the cheek. "I told you that you needed a nice girl." She smiled again and then pushed by him to hold out her hand to Ginny. "Hi, I am totally not hitting on your boyfriend, I swear, and if I knew I would not have kissed him."

Ginny took her hand hesitantly.

"I've told him he needed a nice girl," said Pansy again. "I hope he isn't too 'Malfoyish' or anything."

In bending to shake Ginny's hand, her shirt gaped and nearly slid right off and she pulled the material up with an unabashed grin.

"Ron," said Mrs. Weasley in a collected voice, "why don't you get our guest another chair from the closet."

Draco took a look at the Weasley family, who were still staring at the girl, and he suddenly felt a pain in his temples that had everything to do with the barely dressed Slytherin girl beside him.

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"Oh sweet Merlin," said Pansy, taking the baby from Fleur. "He is adorable. Look at him!"

Pansy loved babies, like any girl, but there was something very bitter-sweet about them. Most likely because they represented things that she probably wouldn't have, a loving husband and time to dote on her own children. The only man Pansy would end up marrying was a rich old bastard who wanted a trophy wife.

She held the baby, rocking him gently and smiling at the bug blue eyes.

"What's his name?" she asked.

"Lukas," said Fleur.

Pansy looked up, arching an eyebrow.

"After Draco's brother," Fleur confirmed. "Draco performed a Caesarian on me during the middle of the magical storm."

"I always knew he was smart," said Pansy. She frowned. "Never knew he was that smart though."

"Aacaa," pronounced the infant in her arms.

Pansy tapped the baby softly on the nose. "We're you talking?" she asked. "We're you talking? Yes, you were. So smart already."

Lukas flailed an arm and she gently took hold of his hand, smiling when the tiny fingers wrapped around her own.

"He's beautiful," she told Fleur.

She held the baby for half an hour more before exploring the house a bit, finding Draco in what was obviously his study. She took in the walls covered in ancient runes and the overflowing bookcase. Draco was bent over the desk, but he looked up when she came in.

"Nice place," said Pansy, leaning up against the doorframe, elongating her frame, her shoulders back. After a while, the posturing was second nature.

"Has its moments," said Draco.

She watched him put the quill down and sit back in his chair. He was in talking mode. She pushed herself off the doorway and sauntered over to the other chair, sitting gracefully and crossing her leg, and her skirt rode high on her leg. She left the door open, just because she didn't want Ginny getting the wrong idea.

"I like her," she said, to break the ice.

"Glad you approve," said Draco blandly.

"Although, I will miss our little trysts," she said, just to see how he would react.

Draco's eyes flickered down, just for a moment. He wasn't proud of his actions, but she merely shrugged. Sex for her had always been something for entertainment. If some people had higher morals, she couldn't care less.

"I hear you had a nice job at the Ministry over break," said Draco.

"Yes," said Pansy. "I was a secretary for a bit for Richard Mortimer in the Treasury department."

"How much did you skim off the top?"

She smiled. "Enough for a comfortable living the rest of my life."

"Of course he'll take the fall for it."

"He's been funding the Death Eaters," said Pansy. "You shouldn't be too upset."

"I'm not," said Draco, giving her a small smirk. He must have already known about Mortimer.

"I've been privy to a few rumors as well," said Pansy. "Dumbledore wants me to relay what I've heard at some Order meeting. I think I should probably skip the part where I had sex with the contacts."

"Might make for an interesting meeting," said Draco.

Pansy laughed, but then shook her head. "I don't know how you do it, Draco. I think if I was staying here over break, I might go mad."

"Still waiting for the day," said Draco.

"Oh, come on," said Pansy. "It has to be exciting for you. I mean, you are dating the Golden Girl of Gryffindor."

"I thought that was Hermione."

"They both fit the bill. But tell me, did her parents freak?"

"I was about to pull my wand."

"Seriously?"

Draco shrugged a shoulder. "It never got that bad, but it hasn't been exactly pleasant."

"Did you think it would be?"

"No," said Draco. "I'm even surprised they relented."

"Of course they did," said Pansy. "Fleur told me all about your wild escapades and life-saving tendencies. Emulating Potter a bit much?"

Draco snorted. "Don't insult me."

"Never," said Pansy.

"Where are you thinking about getting your flat?" asked Draco.

She knew he was asking just so he could check the place out himself. She smiled.

"I'm actually thinking about getting a flat with Blaise."

"Blaise?" asked Draco.

"Yes. His parents are moving back to Italy, but they gave him an option of staying here and they would help pay for a place. I figured he would need some company, and a decorator."

"You aren't-,"

"No," she interrupted. "I'm not interested in Blaise. Besides, the whole reason he's staying is for his girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?"

"You haven't talked to Blaise in a while, have you?" Pansy asked.

"Apparently not."

"Blaise is seeing Luna Lovegood."

She laughed as Draco blinked, his face going blank.

"Startling, isn't it?"

"To say the least," said Draco. He frowned, obviously trying to picture the two of them together. His face didn't twist when he finally put the two together though. Pansy had been surprised to find that the couple might actually be compatible as well.

Someone came in the room. Pansy heard the steps and Draco looked over her shoulder. She turned to see Ginny in the doorway.

"Sorry," said the Gryffindor. "Were you two catching up?"

"Not much to catch up on," said Pansy, giving Draco a parting smile and standing. "I'm going to go unpack. I hate it when my clothes get wrinkled."

She left the room and closed the door mostly shut behind her. She walked down the hallway, slipped off her heels, and walked back. She peered through the crack that she had left.

"Feeling better?" Ginny was asking, perched on the chair she had just vacated.

"Yeah," said Draco. He picked his quill back up and Pansy mentally sighed. Sometimes the boy was a little too distant.

Ginny, she was pleased to note, didn't get offended or hurt. She just sat in the chair and crossed her arms. Draco put down the quill.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he said. "Pansy didn't know."

Pansy could see Ginny's face, but she did see the shrug and laugh.

"It's not like you made-out with her or anything, so don't apologize."

"Oh," said Draco, obviously taken off guard.

"She seems nice," Ginny continued. "A little forward, but nice."

Pansy grinned and Draco snorted.

"A little forward isn't quite the word I would use," he said, defending Pansy's lack of honor.

There were footsteps in the hall and Pansy turned around to see Hermione Granger standing in front of her with her hands on her hips.

"What do you think-," the girl started, but Pansy clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Shh," she commanded. "I'm eavesdropping."

Hermione batted her hand away. "What?" she asked quietly.

"Eavesdropping, as in listening to a conversation between Draco and Ginny."

"Why?"

"Because I want to see them together," said Pansy. "I think they're kind of cute with each other, don't you?"

"I haven't really seen them hang out," said Hermione, shrugging.

Pansy sighed. "Well, why do you think I'm standing here?" She scooted over and pulled Hermione over to the door.

"I'm not going to spy on one of my best friends," Hermione hissed, but then her curiosity got better of her and she peered through as well.

"I've never been good at runes," Ginny was saying. She was now next to Draco, peering over at the parchment.

"I never really tried them before sixth year," said Draco, "but that summer I was in France and took a few courses then."

"Because obviously you cannot be entertained by a holiday," said Ginny.

"I can be entertained by holiday," Draco objected.

"And this proves the contrary," said Ginny, gesturing to the table.

"It's different."

"Is it really?"

Ginny was smiling, her eyes sparkling as she baited Draco. Pansy thought it was adorable.

"Yes, it is," said Draco. "This is because of the war."

"There was a war when you were in your sixth year as well."

Draco rolled his eyes; Ginny grinned and flicked at his hair.

"Well I'm off to help Fred and George," she said, straightening to leave.

"Why are you always rushing off?" asked Draco, turning the teasing on her.

"When was I rushing off?"

"This morning for one," said Draco.

Ginny's cheeks went scarlet. Pansy would have given her favorite gold necklace to know what had happened that morning.

"Did you want me to stay longer?" she asked.

"I'm just saying you didn't have to rush off," said Draco, and then he stepped closer to her, his right hand brushing across her cheek. He was looking at her the way he had never looked at Pansy, as if he was seeing Ginny for the first time and recalling her from memory all at once. She tilted her head up, he leaned down, and then his left hand neatly grasped his wand from the desk and he pointed it at the door. It slammed shut.

Pansy laughed. "Took you long enough Draco!" she called through the wood and then she walked down the hall, Hermione following her. "I'm heading upstairs to unpack," she told the Gryffindor. "Did you need me for something?"?"

"Um, yeah, actually," said Hermione, blushing slightly.

Pansy arched her eyebrow. She had learned the move from Draco and it had taken her a few months to perfect the expression.

"Well, there's no subtle way to say it, so I'm just going to tell you straight out. Mrs. Weasley thinks that you are dressed a little too scantily for present company and wanted me to hint to you that maybe you should put some more clothes on."

Hermione blushed redder. Pansy looked down at her outfit.

"What exactly didn't she like about it?"

"Well, the lack of it, I guess," said Hermione, still red.

Pansy laughed. "Fair enough. I'll go see what I can change into."

She walked up two flights of stairs to her room. Dumbledore had sent her trunks over and she began to unpack, mulling over clothing options as she did. When she had gone through all of her trunks, she walked down a set of stairs to Hermione's room. The door was open so she walked in to find the girl reading. Of course she was reading, and something thick and boring by the look of it.

"Hey, Granger?" she asked.

"Yes?" asked Hermione.

"I'm having a problem with the whole modest dressing thing. You have anything I can borrow?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah," said Pansy. "I don't exactly dress family friendly, and normally I wouldn't care, but I am living with Gryffindors for the time being so I figure I should play nice."

"I mean," said Hermione, trying to explain something, "it's just that…all I really have are jeans and such. Muggle clothes."

Pansy shrugged. "Half of wizarding fashion comes from the Muggle runways."

"Really?"

"It's how I knew your kind couldn't be half as bad as everyone was saying," said Pansy smiling. "I mean what is so bad about Chenille? Or Gucci? Where would we be without those cute little Gucci knock offs in the wizarding stores? Or the Armani-style dress robe suits?"

Hermione stared at her. "Well, I don't have any Armani," she said, opening her wardrobe. "Just generic jeans and jumpers."

Pansy walked over and cast a critical eye over the trousers before pulling a darker pair out. She wriggled out of her skirt to put them on and Hermione quickly looked away.

"I've got knickers on," Pansy laughed. Well, if you could call the black lace that.

"You left the door open," said Hermione, walking over to shut it before anyone walked by. Pansy shrugged. She had great legs.

She pulled the jeans up and fastened the button and zipper. She stared at herself critically in the mirror. She had never worn jeans before and she hated how they covered her entire leg, even though the straight cut did add to their length. She turned and was surprised to see that her butt didn't look half-bad in them, thought there was a good inch of fabric she could pull away from her thighs. She gave Hermione a smile.

"Mind if I borrow them?" she asked.

"Not at all," the Gryffindor said. "Do you want a top as well?"

Pansy shook her head. "I think this is as modest as I can go. Anymore and I'll feel like the Witches Coven in Scotland."

"The who?"

"The witches who dress in sacks and swear off men so they can purify their inner magic," said Pansy. She made a face. "Please, taint my magic any day, is what I'm saying. I'll go find one of my own. Thanks though."

"Yeah," said Hermione as she left. "Not problem."

It was in walking up the stairs that Pansy realized how comfortable the jeans were.

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Please leave a review!


	14. The Secret of the Chamber Revealed

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor did I get him for Christmas (sigh).

Author's Note: So, because I am ridiculously late on this update, I've a bunch of…disgruntled reviewers. I apologize. There was a whole bunch of stuff all at once, combined with writer's block, but I finally have the next chapter done! I won't be replying to individual reviews at this time because I'm a little afraid to read them all and their demands for an update (lol!). I will be trying to update a bit quicker this week, because I am on vacation, but the next chapter is proving a little difficult to get into. So, please accept my apologies, and enjoy the next chapter!

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Draco shut the door with a simple flick of his wand and then hesitated. He had used Pansy and Hermione's presence as an excuse to step close to Ginny, to brush his hand down her cheek, but all of a sudden, he didn't know if he should keep going. Was this moving too fast? Was it completely unwarranted? How did one behave in an actual relationship?

Ginny answered his questions by stepping up on her tiptoes, her hand reaching behind his neck to press their lips together. He felt her soft lips on his own, relishing in the feeling before parting his lips, delving deeper. She wasn't a passive kisser like the girls he had 'dated' before; she responded. There was no dominant partner in the kiss, something Draco had never experience before. It was novel, almost as if he was kissing for the first time and he didn't want to stop.

He did though, because Ginny had been right, he wouldn't let himself get lost when he might take Ginny with him. He pulled back and her eyes blinked open, locking onto his own.

"You kiss with your eyes open," she said, still holding onto his neck, keeping them close.

He paused, trying to search her gaze. "Is that bad?" he asked.

She smiled and shook her head. "No, just a little funny. It seems very symbolic of your attitude."

"How so?"

"You're scared of not being able to see what you are getting into, aren't you?"

"Since when did you become a psychologist?"

"I think it's a necessity for dating you."

Her eyes were laughing when she said that, which meant she wasn't really bothered, but he wondered if maybe it was just too much work, if he was too much work.

"I don't-," he started, but she shook her head.

"Don't apologize."

He nodded; she grinned and tapped his nose.

"You're cute when you're thinking."

He knew his face screwed up at her tap because she laughed. She was always laughing or smiling or grinning and, strangely, it wasn't aggravating.

She stepped back and looked at the papers on his desk.

"What are you doing now?" she asked.

"Refining my equation," said Draco. "The Fortescue vault hadn't been broken into for some time, which means they never had the goblet."

"Because it was never stolen," said Ginny.

"Exactly." Draco nodded. "Because I can cut them completely out of the goblet's path, I can also take out a few families around them and so forth."

"But you don't think a family still has the horcrux, just that by finding the last owner you can find the last thief."

"And when we find the last thief, we can find out where the goblet was stashed."

"And you're putting all of this information into mathematical equations."

"Yes."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Who knew that math could solve crimes? It's almost cool."

Draco frowned. "What was wrong with math before?"

"You like math, don't you? You were one of those kids in basic arithmetic tutoring sessions before Hogwarts who read ahead and took the optional algebra courses and what not."

"Yeah," said Draco, "but I studied the optional math on my own, some trig, some geometry, the calculus was a lot of fun." He shrugged because to him it wasn't that big of a deal. He could never understand why other people found learning boring.

Ginny stared then shook her head. "Oh Merlin, my boyfriend's a nerd," she groaned.

"Hey," said Draco, slightly insulted.

"A nerd," said Ginny, walking to the door. She sighed as she left. Draco followed her, but she quickened her pace her pace in the hall, turning around to sing out 'Nerd!' as she left.

"I object to that term!" Draco called, but his lips twitched once she left. He schooled his expression before returning to his work. He wanted to get this done before the Order meeting.

The Order meeting started out normally enough, until Pansy showed up that is. The members slowly trickled into the dining room where there was coffee, tea, butterbeer and a few scones and other tidbits. Draco knew the food was there in an attempt to keep the mood light, but there was always a feeling of unease even with the snacks. Draco had been accepted, yes, but suddenly certain topics (such as Lucius Malfoy) were stilted as the adults tried to phrase 'Malfoy is a sick bastard and needs to be taken out before he can kill any more innocent people' as delicately as possible.

Draco had managed to suppress the flinch whenever his father was mentioned because the entire table would glance his way when they mentioned his father. Well, his way and in Ginny's direction, oddly enough. There was more to those looks than just 'she's dating the son of Lucius Malfoy' but he couldn't quite grasp what.

Adding Pansy to this mix was a recipe for disaster. She flounced down the stairs, fashionably late, wearing a pair of blue jeans and a gold, sparkling top that only had one sleeve. The back of the shirt consisted of a few strings tied together to keep it from falling off.

"Do you like?" she asked Draco, twirling in the front of the table so that everyone could see. "I thought wearing the colors might help the integration process. Go team!" And then she pumped her arm into the air and flashed a smile.

"For the sake of Salazar," a smooth, disgusted voice interrupted, "do not ever wear that color again."

Pansy whipped around to see her Potions Professor glaring at the outfit. She gave a shriek, clamped a hand over her mouth, and stared. Once she regained her senses, and figured out the truth, she shrieked again and jumped Professor Snape, hands flying around his neck and squeezing hard.

"Miss Parkinson," said Snape, "I am your Head of House, not a potential suitor. Please remember this; there is a roomful of young men on whom you can lather with your attentions."

"But Draco's already taken and everyone else is a Gryffindor." Pansy pouted, stepping back and flicking her hair over her shoulder.

"Perhaps you should follow his example and find a Weasley," said Snape dryly. "Is Albus here yet? I had a matter I wished to discuss with him."

And then the Order began to settle down enough to get to the business at hand, namely welcoming their new member and trying to figure out how to defeat the Dark Lord.

When Pansy was asked how she had known it was Nott who called the raid on the Fortescue home, she, thankfully, did not regal the table with exactly how she had come across the information. She did make several innuendos, paused during the middle of her sentences to give a slow smile, and licked her lips while staring at Ron Weasley, who turned scarlet and couldn't look her in the eye for the rest of the evening.

Mrs. Weasley frowned and gave pointed looks to Mr. Weasley who pretended not to see them. Moody growled, Sirius looked a little uncomfortable, Kingsley hid a smile, and McGonagall frowned severely. Potter had never been redder; Hermione looked tentatively objecting. Dumbledore only got annoyed when, for the fifth time, their plans were halted because Moody made a derogatory comment about the Slytherins (We can't trust them; they'll stab us in the back) and Pansy rejoined with an innuendo and a wink (But only in the morning after).

Moody: Does anyone remember what Salazar was known for?

Pansy (looking up from her nails, innocently): A great night in bed?

Moody: Albus, this is insane. They're Death Eaters and not to be trusted. They'll turn our plans over to the Dark Lord quicker than –

Pansy (raising an eyebrow): A man comes in a roomful of Veela?

Ginny coughed down a bout of laughter; Fred and George stared at her with unabashed awe.

The meeting finally came to a close and Draco got to his feet as quickly as possible without appearing to be retreating. He paused when Moody approached Dumbledore with a fire in his eye. His magical one was switching back and forth between Pansy, Draco, and Severus.

"Albus," he growled, "what's happening? We're supposed to fighting Voldemort, not hosting his followers. They're Slytherin, the lot of them, and we all know that we can't trust them. They're just looking after themselves and with the right price, they'll sell us out without batting an eye."

Dumbledore didn't respond right away. He frowned at the ex-Auror and then turned to the rest of the table. The members were all standing, but hanging back, wondering what Dumbledore was going to say.

"Is there anyone else who feels this way?" the Headmaster asked.

A few people glanced at each other, before looking to the floor. Sirius shifted uncomfortably before clearing his throat.

"I, uh, might not like…some members here," he said.

"Please don't play coy now, Black," Snape interrupted acidly. "It's never stopped you before."

Sirius shot the Potions Master a look. "Fine," he said. "I've never been fond of Snivellus here, in fact, I think his presence is a little more than trying, but I've never doubted your judgment, Albus. If you trust him, than I can believe that you must see something that only you can in him, like a mother with an ugly baby."

"Touched, Black," the Potions Master sniped.

"Shut up," said Black.

Everyone looked to Dumbledore who nodded.

"Thank you," he said to Sirius. "Does anyone else feel a sense of unease with the members?"

Again, a baited silence. Ginny raised her hand.

"Umm, I guess a little bit," she said. "I mean, my boyfriend's ex is here and wearing an extremely hot top right now."

Pansy turned and blew Ginny a kiss. "I'll let you borrow it sometime," she said. "It'll go perfectly with your hair, and it's got adjustable straps, so it's bound to fit."

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat, raising her eyebrows at Ginny, meaning clear.

"You can totally put a shirt under it," said Pansy quickly. "So it's a little less risqué."

There was a muted laughter and the mood immediately lifted.

"In answer to your concerns, Alastor," said Dumbledore, "I would ask that you give these fine people a chance to prove themselves. I vouch for every one of them."

Moody was not appeased. "Albus, this is asking for trouble." He turned to appeal to the rest of the members. "What reason do you have to trust them? Have you forgotten who they are? Here's a Slytherin whore working for the Dark Lord and you trust her?"

"Alastor!" exclaimed Minerva.

"I prefer 'Scarlet Witch'," said Pansy, pulling up a magical mirror to check her complexion.

"And we've a Death Eater right here in our midst," said Moody, jerking his hand at Snape.

"He's a spy, Alastor," said Lupin, trying to appease him.

Draco slipped his unconcerned mask up as Moody turned to him, eye lit with indignation.

"And to top it all, the son of Lucius Malfoy, Voldemort's right hand man. Do you really think he believes in equality? Do you really believe he's here to help and not to spy?"

"He's been disowned," said Sirius. "That says a lot."

"It's a lie, a ruse," said Moody. "He knows exactly how to tug at your heartstrings. He's a Malfoy. They don't just turn around to associate with Half-bloods and Muggle-borns."

"Draco's saved most of our lives," said Bill. "You can't honestly think that he's in league with Voldemort."

"Unbelievable," said Moody. "So he's fooled you too then. What about you, Arthur? Don't tell me you've forgiven the son of Lucius Malfoy."

Draco frowned. There was something in that question that he didn't understand, but it was apparent that Mr. Weasley did because he swallowed, but shook his head.

"I have nothing to forgive."

Moody stepped back, obviously appalled. "Nothing to forgive?" he exclaimed. "Have you forgotten what Malfoy did to your daughter? Do you not care?"

What Malfoy had done? Draco had no clue what his father had done, but it must have been bad because Mrs. Weasley stepped forward, cheeks flushed.

"How dare you?" she exclaimed.

"How dare I?" Moody responded. "How dare you house his son? How dare you let him even look at her after what happened?"

"After_what_ happened?" Draco asked, but the ex-Auror was continuing, his voice growing louder.

"In your naïve attempts to reach out to the world, you are throwing your daughter in with the wolves, Molly!"

"I am doing what I think is best."

"You are feeding into a delusion and not seeing the danger! Are you that blind-sided?"

"Moody, you will not speak to my wife in that manner!" said Arthur tightly.

"Yeah, that's our mum," Fred and George chorused.

"And she is your sister," Moody snapped to the boys. He turned to Arthur. "Get your daughter away before it's too late."

"Alastor," said Arthur, "you go too far."

"I am the only one going far enough; I am the only that is looking out for your daughter's safety!"

"That is not true," said Arthur even as the rest of the Weasley family denied the ex-Auror's statements, speaking over each other in outrage. Draco could hardly pick out the individual voices raised in protest, and he still had no clue to what they were referring to, but a small voice in the back of his mind told him he didn't want to know.

"I do not speak out of turn!" Moody thundered at Bill. "Your family does not seem to remember what happened. How can you forget something like that?"

"I can make my own decisions. It is my choice," Ginny told the Auror, trying to hold Fred and George back who were still yelling and reaching for their wands. He didn't hear her because he was shouting between Bill and Mrs. Weasley.

"What would you have me think? You are caring for his only son, the boy who is just like him, you cannot deny that!"

"He's not his father," Bill protested.

"How dare you imply that I do not care for my daughter? I love Ginny with all of my heart, just as much as her brothers and I do not wish to see her hurt or harmed in anyway, but you are completely unfounded in all of your accusations, Alastor!" Mrs. Weasley raged. "You can leave this house at this instant!"

"You really have forgotten what happened, haven't you? How could you?" asked Moody.

And then, in the slight lull that followed, Draco heard his own voice.

"What happened?"

His voice was low and cold, just like Lucius', but at that moment, he didn't care. Every head turned to him, reluctance in their eyes. Bill looked at him with sympathy and a little bit of regret.

"What happened?" he asked again, looking to Ginny, but she wouldn't meet his gaze. She was staring at the table.

There was silence again, but Moody broke it by laughing. "He doesn't even know?" he asked in complete disbelief.

"Alastor, please," said Dumbledore, but the ex-Auror was already talking, revealing the story to Draco in a voice that resembled glee.

"Your son of bitch father dropped the diary of Thomas Riddle into little Ginny's schoolbooks when she was a first year. The diary was a Horcrux. Voldemort possessed her, and if it hadn't been for Potter defeating a Basilisk and the ghost of Riddle, she would have died."

Draco stared at him in shock, stared at the weathered face with the scarred skin and the crazed hair. Moody's face was twisted into a half-grin at his expression, the magical eye boring right through him. He took an involuntary step backward.

"No," he said, turning to Ginny who still wasn't looking at him.

"Oh yes," said Moody. "And you really didn't know, did you? They really have forgotten."

"Alastor," said Dumbledore, his voice more displeased than Draco ever remembered hearing, "leave. Now."

Draco ignored the ex-Auror's exit of curses and grim predictions of the future and looked to Bill, wanting Bill to say it wasn't true, that Moody had just made it up to anger him, but Bill's face said it all.

"It's true," said Draco.

"It is," Bill agreed quietly.

Draco shook his head, letting out a half-laugh of disbelief and betrayal.

"You knew," he said. "You knew that and you didn't tell me?" He was angry and his frigid, hard voice, the one that sounded exactly like Lucius, showed it all too well. Draco stared at the entire room, realizing that they had all known what his father had done, and they had told him nothing. Betrayal hit hard; he whirled around so he wouldn't have to see the pitying faces, his hands plowing through his hair as he tried to incorporate this new information.

"Draco," said Bill.

"Don't," said Draco, voice strained.

"Draco, please," said Bill, and Draco sensed motion as the eldest Weasley sibling stepped closer. He whipped around in rage.

"Va te faire foutre!" he yelled at the former professor.

Bill winced, holding up his hands as Draco continued.

"You knew, _vous avez su_, and you didn't tell me? Were you ever going to tell me, etiez-vous?"

He was slipping between French and English, too shocked, too angry, too confused to think straight, but Bill understood. Draco was belatedly thankful that the curse came out in French. He shook his head, looking over to Ginny.

"You didn't tell me," he accused.

She raised her head, shaking her hair back from her face and meeting his gaze defiantly.

"I didn't," she agreed, daring him to object.

"Why not?" he demanded. "Did you somehow think this wasn't important?"

"It was too important," she responded.

Draco stared, trying to work his way around her twisted logic. "Too important?" he asked. He shook his head again and took a step backwards. He suddenly needed space.

"Draco," she said, stepping forward. Her voice was trembling; she was trembling. "Please wait."

She already knew he was going, even before he had decided it in his mind.

He stepped back again, trying not to see the way her eyes were blinking, the hand that she reached out. He reached into his pocket and grasped his wand. He was gone with a crack.

The first thing he did when he appeared in his flat was to pull up ward after ward, making sure that no one could come in and then he stumbled into the kitchen and spent ten minutes leaning over the sink, afraid he was going to be sick.

How could they not tell him? How could Bill not mention that his father had given Ginny the diary of Thomas Riddle? How could Ginny never even bring it up?

He wasn't expecting her to just mention it in passing, but didn't he deserve to know?

He walked back to his living room and collapsed on the sofa, clenching his jaw and curling his hands into fists. How could Ginny date him? How could her parents even let her? His father, his own sodding father, had gotten her possessed by Thomas Bloody Riddle.

Draco jumped to his feet, striding to the door. He was going to kill Lucius.

He stopped halfway and spun around. What was he thinking? Kill Lucius? It wasn't even possible. The Dark Lord couldn't kill his father.

But did he even want to kill his father? So he had given Ginny the diary, he probably had no idea what it was, or that it was a Horcrux. It was all a misunderstanding.

Yeah, right. Who was he fooling? Lucius Malfoy would have known what that diary was. He had been trying to kill Harry Potter with it. He probably hadn't known it was a Horcrux, but he would know enough to understand the mechanics. Someone would read it and be possessed and open the Chamber of Secrets. His father had no doubt hoped Harry Potter would be killed as a result. Ginny was just an instrument to get it done, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

His mind rebelled at that thought. Ginny was not an instrument; she was beautiful, smart, fearless…

Oh Merlin, that was the reason she was fearless, that was why nothing scared her. She had been possessed by the Dark Lord, what could be worse? Possessions and exorcisms were never complete, a little bit of residue always remained on the victim. A little bit of his soul had rubbed off on hers. That was the reason she could never be happy with Harry Potter; that was the reason he found her so perfect.

How twisted did that make him? The only reason he liked Ginny was because she had that little bit of darkness. The only reason she was with him was because he was tainted as well.

He was going to be sick again.

He strode back over to the sink, staring at the silver bottom, the truth reassuring him, letting him breathe again.

No, he didn't like Ginny because she had a little bit of the Dark Lord's soul. He had never admired her for her darkness, but the way she had overcome it, the way she had survived. She hadn't locked the darkness away, put it in some box only to be brought out in the middle of the night in the shape of a horrifying dream. She had examined that bit of tainted soul, examined it, learned it, and then incorporated it as a part of her. By accepting that bit of black, she had taken away its power, she had taken away its control and fear. That was why he admired her.

Maybe she saw a little bit of the same in him, except he was mostly dark. There was a real evil in him, one that could control him if he would let it. Like right now, it was screaming for him to kill his father.

Yes, he was going to kill his father. He walked to the door, hand gripping his wand before he stopped himself again. He couldn't just kill his father. Two years ago he would have killed Ginny if it had been necessary. Two years ago he would have done everything in his power to raise the Dark Lord.

But that was two years ago. He had changed.

"Merde!" he half-yelled at the wall.

If he was going to kill Lucius; he needed a plan.

He walked back into the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cupboard over the sink and jerking the faucet handle on. He ran his fingers under the water, already sifting through plans. He couldn't face his father in a duel, nor would he want to. That was too public, too plebian.

Poison was always an option though.

He flipped through the pages of lethal poisons in his head, filling the glass when the water was cold enough. For a brief second he though of drinking something stronger, but he shook his head and turned the tap off. He needed a clear head right now.

He wandered into the small dining room, sipping at his water.

It took thirty seconds before he came to the only conclusion. He could never kill his father, he simply couldn't. There was some sort of bond between them that tied his hands, protecting his father. The only affection he had known as a child, after Lukas had been killed, was from Lucius. How could he end that? He tried to argue, tried to object, but he was never one to ignore the truth, not even when it didn't suit him. Lucius Malfoy would not die by his hands.

"Damn it!" he screamed, smashing the glass onto the table.

The cup shattered under his hand and he sank into the chair, watching the water splash over the table's edge while blood pooled among the shards of glass. His eyes stung and he blinked, pushing the feeling away. There would be no use crying, not even if he could. There were other things to be done. Just because he couldn't kill Lucius didn't mean he was going to let the incident go.

Ginny was his girlfriend. Sweet, beautiful, funny, fearless Ginny, and even though his father had inadvertently been the reason he found her intriguing and the reason she would even consider dating him, she could have died, or worse. No, he couldn't just sit back.

He picked the few glass shards from his hands and cleaned up the mess with a wave of his wand. He then strode straight into his study. He had a lot of work to do.

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"Still no word?" asked Bill, coming down the stairs, rather early in the morning for him but, as usual, Sirius was already at the table drinking coffee.

It had been a day and a half since Draco had Apparated from the Order Headquarters. Bill knew that sometimes Draco just needed time, but he had wanted some form of contact. All yesterday he had waited for word and now it was going on the second. He was starting to get worried.

Sirius looked up from the table and shook his head. "Kingsley is keeping an eye out at the Ministry, but nothing so far. Dumbledore finally got into his apartment half an hour ago."

"And?"

"Not there."

Bill sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Damn it," he muttered.

"What did you expect?" asked Sirius. "Kid's a genius, isn't he?"

"You'd think for a genius he'd be smarter," said Bill, crossing to the table and pouring himself from coffee.

Sirius gave a half-laugh and then the fireplace flared. Kingsley stepped out of the Floo.

"I know what our boy's been up to," he announced, and dropped a newspaper onto the table.

Bill leaned over with trepidation and stared at the picture on the front of the paper. Draco was shaking hands with a man while several people cheered. It looked like he was at a board meeting. The headline proclaimed 'Disinherited Malfoy Reveals a Dazzling Intellect' while the caption under the picture read 'The lately disinherited Draco Malfoy has come forward as the unnamed sponsor of the new potions company, Gere Inc.'

"Gere Incorporated," said Bill. "That's the company that has a new brand of medical potions out, right?"

"And the company that has been working on a cure for Lycanthropy," said Sirius. "They've been able to inject a patient with some condensed form of the Wolfsbane right after the man was bit by a werewolf. Since then, he hasn't transformed."

"Seriously?" asked Bill.

"The company is attributing Draco with the means of the discovery," said Kingsley. "They say his investment kept them in business and now they are the fastest growing company this year. They say he made a cool fifteen million off of the investment."

"Disgusting," said Sirius, shaking his head at the fact that a teenager had that sort of cash.

"He's given most of that away to various charities and museums," the Auror continued.

"He what?" asked Bill.

"Why?" asked Sirius.

"And," said Kingsley, "he's taking credit for the translation of the last chapter in the Averne, although he did cite you as the main translator of the Persian Runes."

Bill shook his head. "I hardly did anything, but why would he even…I thought he wanted to hide his intlligence."

"Turn to page four," said Kingsley.

Bill flipped to the fourth page of the newspaper, scanning the article and frowning.

"A company collapsed," he said. "Why is this-?" but then he stopped because he answered his own question. The company that had collapsed, Wren and Sons, had been funded heavily by Malfoy Enterprises.

"All it took was a few words," said Kingsley. "The kid knew exactly what to say."

"Draco did that?" asked Bill. "How do you know?"

"I re-traced his steps," said Kingsley. "Gere is the rival of Wren and Sons. Draco revealed himself to be the major supporter, and also revealed that he's incredibly smart when he put his name on the translation of the Averne. Other investors saw that and decided to buy shares in the company. After he met with the directors of Gere, he went out to lunch with a few prominent businessmen, men that had been invested in Wren and Son. After that lunch, most of them pulled out. Then, the Aurors got a tip that there was an attack at the Wren and Sons office and they arrived just as a news conference was called by an anonymous caller and so all of the reporters were treated to the sight of Aurors running into the building. Then, to top everything off, the Committee of Internal Affairs got wind of an embezzlement scam and started looking into Carson Wren himself. He was arrested on fraud and embezzlement charges. The company went under in a matter of six hours."

"Why that company?" asked Sirius.

"Lucius Malfoy was a heavy investor. He was one of the co-founders before he pulled out and just remained the financial backbone and now he's lost a major revenue source. The Committee is investigating all of Malfoy's finances and business transactions as well so he's losing even more money. Not enough to ruin him but a good fifty million is gone and it's only going to get worse as the investigation drags on."

"Incredible," said Sirius, shaking his head. "Lucius must be pitching a fit."

"So why isn't Draco back then?" asked Bill.

"I don't think he's done," said Kingsley. "I don't know what else he can do, but just fifty million? If he's anything like his father-,"

"He's not," Bill interrupted.

Sirius snorted. "He's not a murderer, yeah, but can you honestly say that he didn't get anything from his father? Just because he's with us doesn't mean he isn't a Malfoy."

Bill knew Sirius was right, even though he hated to admit it. He liked to think that Draco was cold and hard because he had a cold and hard childhood, but the truth was he had inherited a lot from Lucius Malfoy.

"If he's anything like his father, than what?" he asked Kingsley.

The Auror shrugged. "I think he wants to meet him."

"Who?"

"Lucius," said Kingsley. "What good is revenge if the perpetrator never knows what they did wrong?"

Bill groaned, having a sinking feeling that the Auror was right. "Damn it," he muttered.

Bill stayed in the Headquarters for most of the day, even though the family was going out shopping for Christmas presents. He wanted to be there if, by any small chance, Draco came back. Sirius hung back with him, never one to enjoy shopping.

Later that evening, Bill's patience paid off. The Floo ignited and Draco stepped out, carrying a few packages and nodding to Bill as if nothing had happened.

"Hey," he said, and started for the stairs.

"Whoa," said Bill. "Hold up. You disappear for two days and all you can say is 'hey'? Where the hell have you been?"

Draco turned and shrugged. "Around. I had some business that called my attention."

"By business you mean this?" asked Bill, holding up the paper. But he didn't hold up the front page, no, he held up page four which detailed the collapse of Wren & Sons.

Draco stepped closer to look at the article and frowned.

"No," he said. "That's not one of the companies I'm invested in." He shrugged again and began to walk off, but Bill knew he was lying. There had been a slight flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"Draco, don't lie to me," he called after the boy.

Bill watched Draco pause, still looking towards the stairs. The white-blond head tilted down and Draco sighed before turning to face him again.

"So what?" he asked.

And Bill paused, suddenly not knowing what to say. Did he even disagree with Draco's actions?

"Just…don't do anything you'll regret later," he said.

Draco's eyebrow rose in surprise but he nodded and then turned once more to the stairs. Bill didn't call him back this time but slumped at the dining room table.

His family chose that moment to come home, laughing and smiling as they tried hiding parcels from each other. His mother immediately noticed his expression.

"Bill, what's wrong?" she asked, putting her bags down. "Are you…is it Draco?"

Ginny looked over. "What about Draco? Is he alright?"

"I think so," said Bill. "He came back just a minute ago but he said he had somewhere else to go."

"Where?" asked Ginny.

"He didn't say," said Bill. "Just said it was business. He should be down in a few minutes."

Ginny looked at the stairs for a minute before setting her packages to the side and sitting with Bill at the table.

"I'll put some tea on," said Mrs. Weasley. "We all do with a hot cup of tea after shopping all day."

And the rest of the family gathered around the table, regaling Bill with their shopping horrors and whispering presents in each other's ears. It took half an hour until Draco came down, and then everyone stopped talking and looked to the stairs at the first sound of footsteps.

The minute Draco came into sight, Bill knew there was trouble. Draco was wearing an obviously expensive suit in the latest style, a blend of wizard and Muggle fashion. His trousers were a deep black and his button up shirt was silver and pure silk. The top two buttons were undone, not because he was trying for casual, but because he was making a statement. He was wearing a vest, black with the thinnest of silver pinstripes that matched the shirt. His black jacket over that was longer, following the more traditional wizard fashions of dress robes, but it was fitted to him and not free-flowing. The jacket was embroidered with silver stitching around the cuffs and collar and the buttons were silver as well.

A charcoal overcoat was draped over his arm and his shoes were new black leather boots. His hair was tussled, falling into his eyes and Bill glimpsed a silver chain around his neck that accompanied the ivory charm he had given him last year. He had a ring on his right index finger.

"Going somewhere special?" Bill asked once he came down.

Draco looked up from his wrist where he was fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve.

"Pardon?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, his face a mask of polite indifference.

Bill gestured to the get-up, knowing that Draco must be wearing a fortune in new clothes but the kid seemed absolutely at ease in the outfit. He then wondered how much Draco's wardrobe had cost throughout the years.

"You're dressed up," said Bill.

"Yes," said Draco. "I told you I had to go out."

"Where are you going?" Bill asked.

"I have business to attend," said Draco.

"Business," said Bill.

Draco frowned, obviously annoyed. "Yes, business. Are you content with that or are you going to continue with the inquisition?"

Bill raised his eyebrows and watched Draco let out a silent breath. Usually Draco apologized, or made an attempt at an apology, after his cold brush-offs, but Draco simply shook his head.

"I'll be back later tonight."

And then Draco pulled out his wand and Apparated.

Bill sighed and sipped at his tea.

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So, next chapter is a major Lucius chapter (which is why it's proving a little difficult to write), but please leave a review because I find them encouraging, and I promise to update at lease by Tuesday, if not sooner.


	15. Stalemate

Disclaimer: I am not JK so I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I would miss every deadline and I'm pretty sure people would camp out at my doorstep until I freaking up dated already. Sorry. The explanation is at the end of this chapter.

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Draco Apparated out of the Order headquarters and appeared on a well-lit street of cobblestone. The street was wide and clean and several well-dressed couples were wandering together, hands clasped, some tipsy already, going to the various clubs or restaurants on the rich end of Diagon Alley.

The club he was attending didn't deserve the name. It was a restaurant, a hotel, a business convention, a casino and a lounge all rolled into one and it was frequented by the wizarding world's elite. Draco knew they were already trying to figure out ways to give Harry Potter a membership without allying themselves with the boy-hero. The Triad did not wish to alienate some of their more affluent clientele.

Draco looked up at the large marble building, taking a deep breath of the cold winter air. The main entrance was lit, the warm yellow light falling among the massive pillars to sweep across the grand marble stairs leading up from the road. Draco had been here before, but this was the first time he was arriving by himself, without the protection of the name 'Malfoy'. He recalled the gargoyles that guarded the entrance with perfect clarity, but they seemed much more sinister now.

One did not need a membership to enter the restaurant and lounge, or even an invite. It was necessary to be registered to stay in the hotel in the floors above, and the members received additional benefits, but the main areas were open to anyone with the proper dress.

Draco steeled himself and then ran lightly up the steps. The quicker he was inside the building, the less time he would have to dread the meeting. He arrived at the large doors which were swept open for him by uniformed doormen but didn't spare them a glance.

The foyer was large and bright. The oriental carpeting was plush and in shades of blue, green, and gold. Dazzling crystal chandeliers hung from a gilded ceiling. Large landscape paintings hung on gold and ivory wallpaper. There were sofas and chaises arranged around the several fireplaces and an open bar stood on one side to entertain guests who were waiting for large parties. Uniformed attendants saw to every guest. There was no need for check-in counters or registers; the Triad was able to bill private accounts directly.

A tall man in his thirties approached Draco, his blue and white uniform pressed perfectly.

"How are you today, Mr. Draco Malfoy?" he asked, using the correct form of his name. As he was disowned, he must be distinguished apart from the Malfoy family. Had he still been part of his family, he would have been titled 'Master Malfoy'.

"Quite well," said Draco.

"May I take your coat for you, sir?"

"Yes, thank you."

Draco let the man help him out of his coat and the attendant draped it gently over his arm.

"What are your plans for this evening, sir? If you are waiting for a party, I can offer you some refreshments, or I can direct you to the accommodations director if you need a room."

They would only offer him a room if they were interested in his membership. Draco smirked, knowing that his actions of the past two days would make him an irresistible candidate.

"Not this evening, but another time," Draco promised, accepting the offer. "I'm actually meeting an acquaintance in the restaurant."

"Very good, sir," said the attendant. "Have a nice evening."

Again, it was a sign of the club's desire to seek his patronage that he was not pressed for the name of his companions.

Draco tipped the man nicely and then allowed his cool mask to become that much more arrogant. It wouldn't do for anyone to see the deep breath he took as he started towards the grand doors in the back of the lobby.

The doors were again opened for him by the club's employees. The staircase leading down to the restaurant was rather short, but still extremely grand, carpeted in scarlet with gold banisters. At the floor was a long mahogany bar counter with matching with gold-overlay barstools. Draco knew than every drink invented was possible to be made behind that counter.

Several guests were sipping at cocktails and milling about. Others were standing at the banister across from the counter and watching the couples on the large dance floor, which was accessible by descending a few low steps which were also carpeted in scarlet. The dance floor was polished wood with a low stage on the far end boasting a talented house band and several lounge singers. The main dining area was a large balcony area, directly to the right of the main staircase. No expense was spared on these interior furnishings either, going as close as possible to overdone without losing elegance and class.

"Can I get you a table, sir?" the maître d' asked, approaching Draco.

"No, thank you," said Draco. "I am meeting someone actually."

"I do not think that any of our current guests are expecting you, sir."

"No," said Draco. "I do not think anyone is expecting my company, but nonetheless, if you could take me to the table of Lucius Malfoy, I would be most pleased."

The head waiter looked appropriately apprehensive. Surely Lucius Malfoy would not want to see the son he had disinherited, but at the same time, what if the split had not been hostile?

Draco watched the internal battle on the man's face before giving him a placating smile.

"It's quite alright," he said, leaning in confidentially, as if doing the man a favor. "I remember the way to our table quite well."

And then he sauntered away, approaching the stairs to the dining area as if he were merely meeting an old friend for dinner. Lucius' table was in the best lit area, not quite in the corner, but beside the low balcony rail so that the dance floor could be watched and so that those on the dance floor could see him. It was a table coveted by all politicians and businessmen, and to be invited to dine there was a true honor.

As soon as Draco ascended the stairs, his face became a cold mask of civility. He forced the thoughts of Ginny and the Dark Lord's diary from his mind. Even when in the most desperate of rages, it would not do to display such emotions here.

There were a few diners already seated, couples together and men in small business parties. Draco passed by them, not deigning to look over, his gaze focused on one man. He was still too far away for Lucius to notice him, and a part of his brain was screaming for him to turn back now. He didn't want to see his father. He never won when his father was involved; it would be prudent to turn back now.

But the elegant form of the blond man was drawing closer as his steps brought him towards the table. Lucius was wearing green today, meaning he wasn't in a temper, or upset, which was a surprise to Draco. He had just ruined one of his father's favorite companies. He had expecting deep blue robes, or a dark maroon. His father rarely wore black, a color which made the wearer look too menacing, or called to attention certain negative associations. Draco wore black tonight because he was playing high society and would like a little bit of threat in his demeanor. Still, the rich green robes were startling, almost upsetting. Green meant Lucius was feeling significantly bemused. Draco wondered if his father had again outplayed him, if, in fact, Lucius had been expecting him.

He drew close enough for his presence to be noticed by Lucius and his father looked up from his paper. Lucius raised his eyebrows, a sign of surprise. He hadn't been expected; the first point went to him and he smirked.

"Lucius," said Draco coolly. "Fancy seeing you here tonight. How was your day?"

It was a deliberate jab; Lucius didn't even blink. He leaned back in his chair, regarding Draco with grey eyes that measured him to some unseen scale. He was deemed 'uninteresting'.

Lucius waved a bejeweled hand, languidly, carelessly.

"I do not believe I requested any company tonight. Move along."

Draco resisted the urge to clench his teeth at being treated like nothing more than a common pestilence. He pulled out the chair across from his father and sat, leaning back, sprawled slightly because he was a teenager and could get away with cocky manners.

"Tell me, Lucius, how have you been since our last chat? How is your wife doing?"

With those last five words he lunged for Lucius' heart. Lucius hand clenched around the head of his cane, still a silver dragon, and suddenly Draco was no longer 'uninteresting'. He met his father's gaze with his own wicked, unrepentant, vengeful stare. Draco didn't break the gaze, not even when a waiter approached his father.

"I am sorry, Mr. Malfoy. Would you like this visitor to be removed from your table?"

Yes, no doubt this reunion was causing unease down in the management sector of the Triad. Lucius Malfoy was one of their most privileged members, but Draco had just stepped forward as a new social power. He vaguely wondered what they would do if they did escort him away from his father's table. Beg forgiveness? Offer him a host of complimentary services?

Lucius' lips stretched into a predatory smile.

"Benson," he said, without looking away from Draco. "Do you think that I am unable to remove any trying visitors myself?"

"No, sir. Of course not, sir. I apologize."

"Of course you do," said Lucius.

"It was not my intent to offend, sir."

"Of course it wasn't."

"Can I bring you anything, sir? A drink, perhaps, or a menu?"

"Scotch, my usual," said Lucius. He raised an eyebrow at Draco, the question clear.

"Nothing for me," said Draco.

He could see, in his peripheral, the waiter looking between them, confused and hesitant. Benson finally realized that the silence meant he was dismissed and hurried away.

Lucius' eyes slid to the side to watch the waiter's retreat and then he looked back to Draco, leaning back again.

"The wife is beautiful, as always," he said, returning to the pleasantries. "But your theatrics these past few days suggest that you did not come to exchange petty conversation."

The mocking edge to his tone meant he was less than impressed.

"I wouldn't wish to waste your time," said Draco, leaning back and looking over the empty table. His father hardly ever dined alone. "Were you expecting company?"

"Just your own," said Lucius.

Draco tried masking his surprise, but the edge of it must have slipped through his mask because Lucius' upper lip curled.

"You forget who raised you, Draco. You have always been a little more than transparent."

Lucius said it in a blasé manner, as if Draco really was no more than a passing amusement to him, and it stung, but he forced himself to take a breath before responding. It was in those few seconds that he noticed what he had overlooked before.

Lucius was too composed. His father should have been clearly annoyed and insulted by Draco's presence, for he was only the son who had been disowned. Lucius was too courteous; he should have been making a point of using flowery manners and overly elegant robes to prove his superiority. Lucius was on the offensive. Draco was confused; his father was putting too much effort in the attack.

Draco suddenly realized his confusion was exactly what Lucius wanted. Lucius did not know why Draco was seeking revenge; he didn't know what Draco wanted. He was trying to keep Draco off-balance, hoping for Draco to reveal something before the time was right.

Draco sat back in his chair, studying his father. He knew how to play this game, he had learned it young, but Lucius had far more experience, and the upper hand. Still, Draco had been living with a slew of Gryffindors for the past few weeks. He had learned the subtle art to blunt honesty and that was one thing Lucius could never understand, the one thing Lucius could not contend with.

Benson returned with the crystal tumbler of Scotch and set it in front of Lucius. The waiter obviously noticed the tension because he quickened his retreat.

Draco leaned forward, his expression set, deadly serious.

"Listen closely Lucius, for you will receive no further warnings. What I have done these past few days, I can and will do again if you force my hand. I will not stop at one business; I will not stop at an investigation. I will not stop until every single one of your businesses is bankrupt with the founders thrown out on the street."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Should I fear you, Draco? My influence is greater than your own; my empire stronger."

"And older," said Draco. "And tainted with your less than favorable associations. I have not forgotten who raised me; I will see your ruin complete if provoked. This is my oath."

"Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus," Lucius quoted with an ironic twist. "What has provoked you, Dragon?"

The childhood nickname. Another attempt at unsettling him; he had Lucius on edge.

"My second year at Hogwarts," he started. "The Chamber of Secrets was opened. Do you know by whom, Lucius?"

Lucius leaned back, shrugging a shoulder. "I am not interested in reviving the past. You threw that away, Draco."

Draco ignored the barb. "Let me revive a piece. You came into the possession of a diary, the diary of Thomas Marvolo Riddle. You placed that diary in the pile of schoolbooks belonging to a first year girl by name Ginevra Weasley. As a result, Miss Weasley was possessed by the spirit of Thomas Riddle, who is now known as the Lord Voldemort, and nearly killed.

"Reparations for the act have already begun and will approximate to seventy million galleons. Should Ginevra Weasley ever be harmed again, the consequences will be much greater."

"A Weasley," said Lucius. "Seventy million for the distress of a Weasley nearly six years ago. Why, in the name of Merlin, wo-,"

And Lucius stopped himself and his eyebrows rose. "Mon Dieu." Draco watched his father sit back in his chair. The grey eyes flickered with something, but he couldn't read it. Lucius' expression twisted, but was it with revulsion and distaste or was it merely an unconcerned amusement at the attraction of lesser beings?

Lucius took a sip of his Scotch, and then another. He set the glass back on the table and regarded Draco with cool eyes.

"A Weasley," he said, expression neutral. "Of all the women you could have dallied with, and you chose a Weasley."

Draco didn't say anything, but watched Lucius take another sip of the Scotch.

"Are you that pressed for company, Draco?" asked Lucius. "Is she the only one who would pleasure you now that you have forfeited your name? I understand that losing the Malfoy name is a hard loss, but surely-,"

"I have not lost the Malfoy name, Lucius," said Draco, for the first time in his life daring to interrupt his father.

Lucius stopped, startled that Draco would presume talk over him and completely at a loss to what Draco was saying.

"I kept the name, Lucius," Draco reminded him.

"It is not tied to me," said Lucius. "Legally, politically, financially, I have nothing to do with you."

"It is of no matter," said Draco. "My surname is still Malfoy and in regard to the mind of the public, I am still tied to you, no matter how faintly. Should you dare harm, or even think of harming Ginevra, I will tarnish my good name until I drag yours to hell with me."

Lucius' eyes flashed. "Do not provoke me, boy, for I will not be lenient to you. Do not think that you can speak this way in my presence without repercussions. There is nothing that would stop me from doing to you what I have done to those who have dared try the name of Malfoy. There is no pity or mercy for you."

"You think that I am still a child," said Draco. "You think that you could reach me when I have allies even the Dark Lord cannot touch. You are mistaken if you think you will intimidate me with threats, with stories of your past conquests."

"These are no threats," said Lucius. "You are still young, arrogant in your own self and in that fool of a Headmaster. Where was he when the school was attacked? Where was he when the Ministry nearly splintered? You are confidant, and you will fall, and if I am the hand that brings you down, than so be it. You will not harm the name of Malfoy."

His father's face was set, the grey eyes holding back a storm so furious, Draco felt chilled, but he pressed on, his own rage lending him strength.

"I shall if you do not hold to the stipulations I have given," said Draco. "I will have the name struck from every book, blotted from every record, spoken with far more revile than even that of the Dark Lord. Do not-,"

And then Draco stopped because Lucius had been staring at him, not at him, through him, but then Lucius glanced behind him and a voice was speaking, a light, feminine voice.

"Draco."

Draco knew that voice, shock stopping him cold. He prayed it wasn't her, slowly turning around and hoping against hope that he had been wrong. He was never wrong.

Ginny stood behind him and he stared. He couldn't help it; she looked stunning.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" she asked.

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"You think that I am still a child," said Draco. "You think that you could reach me when I have allies even the Dark Lord cannot touch. You are mistaken if you think you will intimidate me with threats, with stories of your past conquests."

Lucius felt a surge of anger tainted with frustration. How dare Draco talk to him this way? How dare he interrupt his own father?

Even if Lucius had been the one to severe the ties between them, he would have respect from the boy he had raised on his own. If nothing else, Draco should respect the position Lucius held, the experience Lucius had gathered in the years in which Draco hadn't existed. Lucius had power; in some cases, even more than the Dark Lord because the Dark Lord only moved in shadow. Lucius had influence in illegal affairs, and the legal ones. Lucius could, if provoked, retaliate against the impudence and arrogance his late son was displaying towards him. If provoked, he would not pull his blows.

He had known, from the minute he had heard of the collapse of Wren & Sons, that Draco had been involved. Draco's sensational reappearance in society had created a shockwave in all social circles and Lucius knew the two events, both occurring on the same day, were not mere coincidence.

He had also known that this was his late son's calling card. For some reason, one Lucius had yet to determine, Draco wanted to meet. Something had happened, something had sent Draco into a rage, and it was that something that had brought Lucius to the Triad. Draco would find him here, of that there was no doubt, and while he waited, he had toyed with guessing to what the reason would be.

Most teenagers, recently disowned, would seek some type of revenge, but Draco was not most teenagers; he understood the consequences of betraying his family. Draco was raised according to the Pureblood customs and traditions. No Pureblood son so brought up would implement a revenge when it was their own decisions that had caused their disownment. Draco had no right to do so, but that meant Lucius had no hint to what Draco was reacting against.

Lucius needed to know what had set Draco off. The collapse of Wren and Sons had been damaging. Not a lethal blow, no, not even close to such, but momentarily crippling. Lucius would walk out of the damage relatively unscathed, had already implemented a regime of actions that would pull Malfoy Enterprises away from the rubble, but to fully recover from the collapse, he needed to know what had caused it. He needed to know why Draco had caused this.

There was more to meeting Draco than simply protecting his finances. He didn't like to think of these reasons, but they whispered in the back of his mind whenever he sat in silence after a long day, they tainted his thoughts during menial tasks and when his concentration wandered. They invariably asked 'why?'

Why had Draco so easily turned his back on his family and heritage? Why had he allowed Lucius to disown him? Why had he denied the Dark Lord when he could have been his heir?

He knew that he would never fully understand unless he asked Draco himself, but he would never do such a thing. Draco had made his choice and so Lucius would wash his hands of the boy. Still, here was an insight into Draco's mind. Draco had reacted in anger, and if Lucius could figure out what had made Draco angry, then maybe this would be the key.

He had not expected the reason for Draco's anger to be for the sake of a woman. In all of his wildest speculations, he had never even come close to thinking that the woman would be a Weasley. It was worse than his son associating with a Mudblood.

The entire affair was ridiculous. It was more than ridiculous; it was completely nonsensical. A Malfoy and a Weasley? His son was supposedly a genius; this negated all of his claims.

And now his son was threatening him, disregarding Lucius' warnings of a full retribution. Lucius felt an inexplicable fury well up inside his chest. He wanted to do nothing more than to pull his wand right now and show the boy who was the superior, show him who had the real power. He could get away with it too, he knew, but it would go against the image he had so carefully wrought.

"These are no threats," said Lucius, restricting himself to words and not curses. "You are still young, arrogant in your own self and in that fool of a Headmaster. Where was he when the school was attacked? Where was he when the Ministry nearly splintered? You are confidant, and you will fall, and if I am the hand that brings you down, than so be it. You will not harm the name of Malfoy."

He willed his son to understand this. He had only disowned Draco the last time he had so blatantly betrayed his name; any more and Lucius would not hesitate to land a heavier blow.

"But I shall if you do not hold to the stipulations I have given," said Draco, not heeding his words. "I will have the name struck from every book, blotted from every record, spoken with far more revile than even that of the Dark Lord."

Lucius' hand clenched. How dare the boy be so impudent? So defiant? He would not-

There was movement behind Draco and he looked up. His glance clued Draco in as well, and his son trailed off.

The red-haired girl spoke, her voice light, pleasant. There was a genuine warmth to her tone that Lucius had not heard in a long while.

"Draco."

His son's eyes darkened at the voice, not in anger, but dread and apprehension. Draco turned, staring at the girl. Lucius cast a critical eye over what must be Ginevra Weasley.

The girl was, most importantly, dressed appropriately. The ivory cocktail dress she wore was fashionable, designed by one of the more established companies, the same company for whom the eldest Weasley's wife was employed. Secondly, the girl had vastly grown from the last time Lucius had seen her, when she was a mere wide-eyed, scraggly-haired first year.

She was of average height and attractively slender, but her skin was pale porcelain and not sun-kissed tan as the current fashion demanded. Her body was nothing extraordinary, but the ivory cocktail dress she wore was fitted like a glove, accenting the flat stomach and curve of her hips. The dress was strapless, revealing smooth, graceful shoulders any woman would be proud to claim. While her breast size was, again, nothing special, the low line of the dress revealed an enticing shadow of cleavage. The dress ended a few inches above her knees, revealing shapely legs and a pair of gold, high-heeled shoes.

Her face was pleasing, dark eyes and lashes contrasted to pale skin. Her nose was straight, but smattered with freckles that she did not conceal. Her lips weren't quite full, but her smile was genuine. She wore make-up, but only to enhance her natural features, which leant her a fresh beauty, one that no other woman in this room could attest to possessing. Her hair, pulled back in a sleek French twist, was a striking red that shone gold when it caught the candlelight.

Altogether she was a pretty girl, but Draco could have had any woman he desired. Why then this girl?

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" the girl asked Draco.

At first, Lucius expected Draco to refuse, but his son was far too well-mannered to make a scene in the Triad. Draco got to his feet and stepped over to the girl, kissing her on the cheek and then turning back to Lucius.

"Ginny," he said, "this is Monseigneur Lucius Malfoy."

His son did not introduce him to the girl. Draco didn't have to because, legally, they were not connected anymore and so etiquette said that while it was not remiss to complete the introduction, it was not necessary. It was obvious Draco did not wish the girl to speak with him. It was also obvious he had no idea the girl would be here.

"You will excuse us," Draco continued. "I do not seek to take up any more of your time. Ginny, shall we find a table?"

It was a flawless exit, one that conveyed all of the needed civility but left no room to think that the company was desired. Lucius was not going to let him leave, not when Draco had given the last word. When Draco left, if Draco left, it would be on Lucius' term; this would not be Draco's triumph. Lucius ignored the threat in Draco's voice and stood. He was Malfoy; he could overlook the real meaning in the exit.

"Please," he said, stopping the couple from turning away. He looked to the girl. "I did not mean to keep your beau from attending to you. Dine with me and excuse my ill manners."

Draco was startled. The grey eyes that were so like his own fastened to his face, the jaw set. Lucius ignored him and instead put on a small smile, holding out his hand. "I would be honored with your presence," he said.

He wondered, idly, if the girl would turn tail and run, but then again, she was a Weasley and born for Gryffindor and so he was not surprised when the girl met his smile with her own. She walked forward, letting him take her hand.

"Ginevra Weasley," she introduced herself. "The honor is ours."

Lucius bowed and kissed the back of her fingers.

"I have heard so much about you, Miss Weasley," he said, straightening again but not releasing her hand.

"Please, Ginevra," the girl corrected.

Lucius nodded and guided her back to the table, pulling out a chair and helping her in. He then walked around to the other side and reclaimed his own seat, raising an eyebrow to Draco who was standing protectively behind the Weasley girl but not making any move to sit.

Draco met his gaze and Lucius was surprised at the comprehension in the grey eyes. His son had read his ploy, knowing that to win back the advantage, Lucius needed to keep the two of them here. The surprise of Ginevra's arrival had taken them both aback, but it had worked to Draco's favor. Lucius had lost ground, much of it. His son's eyes were darkly triumphant, but this battle was far from over.

"How are your parents?" Lucius asked, turning back to the girl as Draco took his seat.

"My parents are quite well, thank you," said Ginevra. "I shall tell them you inquired."

It was a proper response, but there was a certain wicked light in her eyes which caused Lucius to think she really might tell them. He did not have to imagine what kind of havoc his inquiry would cause. He was rather surprised at the girl, though it did not show on his face.

"I hope you are having a good holiday so far," said Ginevra, continuing the small talk easily. "Do you have any plans for Christmas?"

"Yes," said Lucius, "I have been invited to spend the holiday with the Minister at the Burton Estate. A few other governors and various dignitaries will be in attendance as well."

"Sounds like quite the party," said Ginevra.

Lucius gave a charming smile. "It will no doubt be extremely trying, but I shall endeavor to endure it. I hope your own plans are less unpleasant."

"Draco and I will be spending Christmas locally."

"And how are you set to enjoy the festivities in hiding, Draco?" Lucius asked, turning to his late son with the first of many attacks. This was where real wars were waged, not in the battlefield, but in public, in plain sight. Not with curses and heavy blows, but with tiny remarks, small cuts that were strategically placed until the unsuspecting were drained dry.

"You just told me there was no need," said Draco. "What could possibly happen when the leading lacking is on holiday?"

Lucius raised his eyebrow in warning; Ginevra looked to Draco in surprise at the cutting tone.

"We will be celebrating with the family," she expounded.

"Ah, the family," said Lucius, still looking to Draco. "And just how are you getting along with the family?"

"Satisfactorily," said Draco, not affected at all by that jibe and not bothering to return his own.

"Draco is being modest," said Ginevra. "He and my family are getting along splendidly. He has even been made godfather to my nephew. Perhaps you've heard the news. Fleur, my eldest brother's wife, gave birth a few days ago to a boy, Lukas Arthur."

Lucius had heard about the birth, even though the news had not been broadcasted to the general public just yet (a birth in the Order would be a prime target for Death Eater attacks). He had not heard the name. His face did not show his shock at the name 'Lukas', but he did glance over to Draco whose face was a study of disinterest. He looked back to Ginevra, wondering if the girl knew the significance of the name. She was well aware, her eyebrows raised, intently watching his expression.

He knew he gave no emotion away, but the name had been a baited piece of information, spoken casually but with the intent to gauge his reaction, to feel him out. It was calculated and Slytherin and completely out of character for a Weasley. It seemed Draco might not be alone in the battle.

"Do pass on my congratulations," said Lucius as Benson approached the table again. Lucius turned to the server, giving his permission for the waiter to speak.

"Are the three of you dining together?" asked Benson.

"Yes," said Lucius.

"Very good, sir," said Benson, and then he distributed the menus. "The wine list is on the back. I will be return shortly to take your orders."

Benson nodded before once again hurrying away. Lucius knew that the management must be in uproar. It was not everyday that a respected patron met with his disinherited son and girlfriend, and never had a Malfoy and a Weasley dined together voluntarily.

He turned his attention to the menu, already knowing what he was going to order but surveying the options anyway. The Weasley girl was leaning over to Draco, asking for any recommendations. He listened to the two of them converse.

Ginevra spoke warmly, sometimes teasing, always smiling. Draco responded in the cool tones he had learned from Lucius, his eyes silently reproaching Ginevra for coming, but the inflections in his voice portrayed a level of attachment Lucius had not expected. The inflections were subtle, discreet, and Lucius did not expect anyone beside himself to read them correctly, but it was obvious that Ginevra did.

Lucius waited until the orders were taken, and until the soup was served before striking conversation again, and he directed the words to Ginevra. He knew that Draco did not like his father addressing his girlfriend; it was apparent in the way his shoulders tensed and how he watched the both of them carefully.

"You attend Hogwarts, I assume," he said to the girl, who was sampling the bisque.

She took the time to swallow, not at all embarrassed at being spoken to when her mouth was full, something which caused most refined women to blush and become flustered. He had wanted a flustered Ginevra; that would no doubt lead to an angry Draco.

"Yes," she said, patting her lips with her napkin and smiling at him. Smiling seemed to be a habit with her. "I'm in my sixth year."

"Any favorite classes? Other activities you enjoy there?"

"I am a Chaser for the Gryffindor team."

That explained the shapely legs. He gave a small smile.

"I hear your team has been doing quite well for the past few years."

"Yes, I think we are finally pulling together and learning to talk to each other on the field. It's great fun once everyone feels comfortable in their own position."

"It must be a great honor to fly with Harry Potter," said Lucius. "I hear he is easily five times the better flyer of any student in the school."

Draco spoke up at the veiled insult, like Lucius wanted him to, but his voice was neutral. "Five times is a little steep. I would definitely say he's twice as good as the rest of us, maybe three. What do you say, Ginny?"

"Two point four," she said, shooting him a smile.

Lucius had a faint feeling that she understood his dig as well, but continued anyway. This was the trick to the subtle art of verbal war. One small nick meant nothing, but after time, the nicks became grievous injuries.

"How does it feel to be on the guaranteed victor's team? It was much like that when I played in Hogwarts. Slytherin was having the record winning streak then."

"It isn't a guaranteed win. There are still injuries to worry about and if the other team has a better game strategy, it doesn't matter if Harry does catch the Snitch." Ginevra turned to Draco for confirmation.

"And some would say there is more to life than winning and fame," said Draco blandly, obviously uninterested in the conversation.

"Such as family?" asked Lucius.

He watched with satisfaction as the grey eyes flickered, but that was it. There was no real admission of the strike, and so any success was null.

"Yes," said Draco. "Family is important, but so is staying true to oneself, upholding the sacredness of all life, equality for all, not bowing the wishes of many when the majority is in error, and, above all, true love." Draco smirked. "I could continue with the list of over-sung sonnets, but I wouldn't wish to bore."

That last was directed to him, and Lucius was incensed. His expression never wavered.

"So you are a philosopher now as well as a translator and a businessman. I'm surprised you were not invited to the Minister's as well with such a repertoire."

"You flatter me," said Draco, voice still flat.

"I assure you, I do nothing of the sort," said Lucius.

The soup dishes were cleared away by a team of waiters, the appetizers served next. Lucius took a moment to collect his thoughts. Draco was doing an admirable job of not being drawn out into a verbal sparring match, merely batting away the slights that Lucius sent his way and it would not do. If Lucius wanted to deal a fitting blow, Draco would have to be engaged in the battle. If Lucius was to be the victor, he needed Draco angry, he needed him to be as frustrated and twisted as he was.

"I hear you will have an extended break," said Lucius, again looking to Ginevra. "You must be pleased for the extra holiday time."

"It isn't exactly holiday time," said Ginevra.

"Of course," said Lucius. "Forgive me for sounding so callous. The attack on your school was shocking."

"To some perhaps," said Ginevra, her lips twitching in the knowledge that she was speaking to one of those who had helped plan the attack. Lucius wanted her off-guard, not amused.

"I hear your brother was injured in the attack. I trust he is well now?"

"Yes, he has recovered quite well," said Ginevra.

"How splendid."

Lucius looked over to Draco to see a pale eyebrow rise with a smirk.

"Draco actually saved his life, so you can imagine how grateful my parents are to him. We're so happy to have him," said Ginevra. She reached over to lay a hand on Draco's knee, sending him a secret grin.

Draco looked over and something passed between them. Draco leaned in to press a light kiss on Ginevra's cheek but she turned into the kiss. It was a chaste gesture of affection, one that nearly put Lucius off of his meal.

"Pardon," Ginevra excused herself afterwards with a small blush.

"Oh, don't apologize on my account," said Lucius. "Young love is fleeting and should be cherished."

"It is only fleeting when it is unrequited," said Draco, finally coming out of his indolent attitude to strike back.

Lucius was not accustomed to such an attitude and the knowledge that he could do nothing but respond in words was grating. If this was any other antagonist, Lucius would already be plotting a retaliation at a later date, perhaps financial, perhaps physical, but Draco was not such. He had taught Draco too well, and the normal tactics would not work. This time, the retaliation would require deliberation when he was free to think.

"Perhaps," he allowed, conceding the point because by doing so he was taking away Draco's victory. "Do you believe yourself in love, Draco?"

He raised an eyebrow, daring Draco to lie and say yes. Nothing ruined relationships more than hasty proclamations of devotion.

"Oh, I don't think we're that serious," said Ginevra, speaking up and covering for her boyfriend. "We're more than friends, most definitely, but to say anything more I'm afraid would jinx us."

"Surely you do not hold such a fear, Draco," said Lucius. "A mind like yours fearing a superstition?"

"No," said Draco. "But I do not seek to be too hasty in my relationships or else I might make a mistake. I would not wish to be in a one-sided relationship, for example. I think life would be unbearable if I was with a partner I did not admire or love."

He smirked, raising his eyebrow in defiance. In his words he sited Narcissa as the one who was suffering in the marriage and Lucius clenched his fist which was out of sight. He would not give Draco the satisfaction of seeing the strike hit home. Draco knew far too much meaning he knew how to inflict the most damage. Narcissa…

But no, he hadn't thought of his wife for years now, and he wouldn't start. He had her, owned her, if not her loyalty, and he could force himself to be content with that. When that wasn't enough, he took pleasure in ruining her lovers.

The main course was served, Lucius noting the weak wine Draco received with his supper. No doubt Draco wanted to remain alert for the girl's sake and to remain on the defensive.

"Ginevra, how is your meal?" he asked after a brief interlude.

"Exquisite, thank you," said Ginevra. "I don't think I've had anything better. Is your own meal to your satisfaction?"

"It will suffice," said Lucius, "but I must take you to Compora sometime. It is a beautiful restaurant along the coast in France in the wizarding capital. The chef there is a true master."

Draco shot him an unimpressed glare which Lucius ignored.

"Tell me more about yourself Ginevra," he commanded.

"Oh, I'm sure it's not that interesting," said the girl.

"Nonsense," said Lucius. "What is it like to be a youth today, among the chaos of these changing times? I realize it causes some people to take leave of their senses, to behave irrationally."

"I would think it would be the opposite," said Draco. "What else challenges young minds to seek out the truth than the threat of death?"

"Surely you do not feel threatened with death," Lucius objected.

"No, not death, just the death of freewill."

"There is more to life than the will of an individual."

"That's an archaic form of thought. What do we own except our individuality?"

Lucius raised an eyebrow at the change in topic; the verbal spar had evolved into an ethical debate. The change was not unwelcome. It would offer another hint into Draco's reasons for severing ties with the Pureblood society.

"Free will does not denote individuality, just as tradition does not mutually exclude independence," he said. "Honor will always be greater than these."

"Honor or horror?" Draco asked.

Lucius frowned. "You are young, and your speech shows such."

There, right there. Lucius swore that he had not imagined the glimmer in Draco's eyes.

"I am not as young as you would think," Draco responded, his voice carefully neutral. He then looked up, meeting Lucius gaze the way an equal would which caused ire to flare up in his chest. Draco had once been his son and to express equality was an insult to age and the proper familial hierarchy. Yes, Lucius had removed Draco from the family, but he would still have the proper homage paid.

Lucius openly scoffed at Draco. "Your actions betray your age. You are still young and I am still unimpressed."

Draco's eyes sparked, his jaw clenching once before the indifferent smirk was plastered on his face again.

Lucius was confused. Why would these remarks hit so hard when he was clearly unaffected by the harder blows Lucius had given. He continued on that path, wanting to press his advantage while trying to understand.

"You will no doubt get far with your idealist notions now that such proclamations are heralded with trumpets and visions of glory, but I assure you, the generation of your elders is unimpressed."

Draco raised an eyebrow, but not out of anger at the remark. Rather, he appeared amused.

"Perhaps it is time for a revolution then."

"A revolution or rebellion?"

"The new generation always appears to be wayward and straying to the elder, but the world is still standing. Most would even say that it has improved."

"The improvements have nothing to due with your concepts of individuality."

"No?" asked Draco. "It seems to me they have everything to deal with it. Creativity in one decade alone has given the wizarding world more advancements than the entire reign of honor and familial pledges. In this case, the cause must be our awakening of self."

Lucius was quickly losing control of this conversation. He reverted back to the original comments that had Draco angry.

"And what of the deteriorations? You cannot forget these. I remain unconvinced and unmoved. More so than this, I am bored by your revolution. It is a fancy of youth and inconsequential."

Draco's eyes slid to the side as he leaned back in his chair. "So be it," he shrugged, but there was anger in his eyes.

Lucius continued, slowly realizing what had affected Draco so.

"I had thought that some were better raised than to fall into such false notions of grandeur."

Draco didn't flinch, but his eyebrows furrowed at the comment.

Lucius smirked, knowing now what had made Draco so angry. Draco only reacted when Lucius discussed his personal revulsion for the ideals Draco stood for, for the actions Draco had taken.

Lucius felt like laughing in victory. His son had tried so hard to appear his equal, had tried so hard to prove himself as independent from his father, but it was Lucius' disapproval that struck him the hardest.

Here was proof that his son held a devotion to him even though Draco had switched ranks. There was a flush of elation at this discovery, but something much more tangible, much more substantial. Lucius was pleased, content even in the continued fidelity of his late son. It no longer mattered that Draco had run to Dumbledore. Even though Lucius had thrown Draco out, the boy was still his, still wanted to be his, as it should be. The world was still right.

And now, the only thing that was left was to finish the battle, to leave his son completely defeated with the knowledge of his loss, broken on the battlefield.

"Still," said Lucius, "I have no doubt that society will come to its senses soon enough. And just in time too. I do not wish to raise my child in these turbulent times."

Draco's eyes shot to his face. It was a blatant lie, because Lucius hadn't even considered having another child with Narcissa, not when she had given herself so freely to others. Divorce was not an option, far too plebian and scandalous, but he would not be able to bring himself to kill her. It did not matter for she would kill herself soon enough with all of her drugs and wine and then Lucius would take another wife. Draco didn't need to know that.

He could tell that his comment had hit hard. He could see it in Draco's eyes. It was well-hidden, and no one else would read the emotion, but Lucius had raised Draco. He could see the pain beyond the storm, the betrayal. Good.

"And," he continued, "if such are the notions held by this generation, than I am pleased that I have none at this time."

Draco clenched his jaw. Ginevra was looking to him worriedly, and then sending glares his way, but Lucius wasn't going to be deterred. Draco looked to the dance floor, picking up his glass of wine.

It wasn't enough; Lucius wanted an open admission of his victory. He spoke again.

"Tell me, Draco, were you as happy to be free of me and my 'archaic' ideas as I was elated to be rid of a such a disappointment to the Malfoy name?"

Lucius was expecting anger to his words, an anger that he could manipulate to achieve the admission he desired. He was not expecting the outright flinch of Draco, the way his face paled and his hand shook oh-so-slightly as he hurriedly set down his glass of wine so that the scarlet liquid nearly sloshed over the edge.

"Draco," said Ginevra, her voice tight, reaching out to him but then stopping as Draco shifted from her touch.

Lucius watched it all, putting the pieces together: the one glass of weak wine Draco was drinking, the way he had nearly tipped over his glass to put it down, the faint flush of shame on his cheeks. He knew right then what had happened. Draco hadn't handled the disownment well. He'd either drunken himself into a stupor or tossed back a home-made drug cocktail.

There it was, the card Lucius could play, flaunting disregard and sneering superiority, laughing at the son who denied his father and then nearly destroyed himself. He could seal his victory, strike the final blow. Draco would not dare to challenge him after this.

The only catch was, to play the card, Lucius would have to pretend to be completely unaffected by the fact that Draco had turned to drugs. Unbidden, the memories of holding down his thirteen year old son, who was screaming in pain from withdrawal, rose to the surface of his mind. Lucius was not stone, like so many thought he was. He could not play the card and keep his mask of indifference, and if he tried and when he made his fatal flaw, Draco would be the victor.

They were in a stalemate then, neither of them able to let go of a non-existent tie between them, and neither being able to admit to it.

And so Lucius was silent, accepting the outraged look of horror and condemnation from Ginevra. Of course Draco picked that up. He had been tensed, expecting another comment, but as the seconds past and still Lucius said nothing, Draco looked up, confusion in his eyes.

The confusion slowly cleared as the truth dawned on Draco. Lucius had known what Draco had done, and he was not throwing it in Draco's face. Lucius couldn't use it, he couldn't use the fact that Draco cared for his father as a winning move because the link went both ways.

Draco didn't smile, but he did sit back in his chair, startled. His eyes cleared, the grey unfroze and a small smirk played at the corner of his mouth.

Lucius cursed himself for admission, not prepared to let Draco win this round even if he had been forced to admit, in his mind, that there was a bond between father and son.

The waiters came back to clear their dishes, pouring tea and coffee during the short intermission before dessert. On the dance floor a song ended and another began, a waltz.

Lucius stood and held out his hand. "Dance with me, Ginevra," he commanded.

The girl turned to him, obviously surprised.

"There is time until dessert, and I wouldn't wish to bore you," said Lucius. "All young women love to dance, do they not?"

Ginevra got to her feet, taking his hand even as Draco half-rose.

"Ginny," he said, his voice cool but the tone sharp.

"One dance," she said. "We'll be right down there."

Lucius guided her away before she could reassure her boyfriend any further. He walked briskly to the floor, Ginevra almost trotting to keep up, not prepared for the pace in her high heels. He pulled her into the dance before she had time to recognize the count of the song and she nearly fell into him, catching herself with her correct arm on his shoulder and then stumbling into step with him.

"I do hope we haven't bored you tonight, Ginevra," he said with a predatory smile. If he hadn't been able to get to Draco, he would have to be content with the girl.

"Not at all," she responded.

"And I hope he is behaving himself."

"A perfect gentleman." Her voice was slightly breathy, whether from the unexpected burst of activity or apprehension, he couldn't tell.

He twirled her, arm going over her head, not allowing her to recover her equilibrium.

"I doubt that. The relationship is quite sudden, isn't it?"

A quick two-step turn and glide.

"Yes, perhaps," she said, pulling in a quick breath.

"And you still say he has acted like a gentleman?"

He twirled her three times and then caught her, preparing to move back into the dance, but she stopped firm.

"Of course," she said, looking him straight in the eye as she found her balance. "I asked him out."

Lucius frowned. She had what?

He pulled her back into the dance, but taking the slow steps, weaving among the couples. Ginevra was proving to be almost as much of an enigma as Draco.

"Quite an interesting choice on your part. Your parents must have been displeased in your pick."

"Concerned, yes, but not displeased. They couldn't say no to Draco, not after his bout of heroics."

"So it's the fame you're after then."

Ginevra laughed. "If it was fame I was interested in, I would have gone after Harry."

"Money, perhaps?"

"I've learned to be content to just get by. Besides, Harry does have his own fortune to add to his appeal."

"You're left with explaining away your relationship as a fit of teenaged rebellion, my dear. At least pretend it was one of the other two."

"Who says it has to be for those three reasons?"

"You can not expect me to believe that you fell for Draco. His ties are less than appealing to a Weasley."

"Care to explain that?"

"You're a naïve little girl, Ginevra."

She laughed. "You can hardly think me naïve. You're forgetting my first year at Hogwarts."

"All the more reason to stay away or else a few unpleasant nightmares will return."

"I don't get nightmares," said Ginny. "Not about that, at least. I am still afraid of thunderstorms though."

"Not afraid?" asked Lucius. "Forgotten, perhaps?"

"Hardly," said Ginevra, looking straight up at him. He looked her in eyes, really looked, and he finally realized why she hadn't made any sense to him. He had thought she was merely a Weasley, but there was another presence in her gaze, a shadow rather than a substantial form.

Lucius knew who owned that shadow, had seen him yesterday afternoon in fact, and seeing it in the eyes of a sixteen year old girl caused him to freeze for the slightest of seconds before expertly guiding her between two couples.

"No exorcism is ever complete," said Ginny.

"It's not him," said Lucius. He recognized the difference.

"It's not Voldemort, if that's what you mean," said Ginny. "It's Thomas Riddle, the younger and slightly less maniacal version. You see now, don't you?"

"That doesn't mean a thing."

"It means I'm not in over my head, that maybe, just maybe I'll be a good match for him. Even if it doesn't prove it to you, you should know that I don't like to see him hurt. I wish to Merlin that he had never found out about you and the diary and Tom."

"You would have kept it from him."

"I would have, but he found out and he came here. I think it might have been good for him, for the both of you, but I don't want him to see you again. He gets morose."

"I'll see whom I wish."

"Yes, you will," said Ginevra. "I'll merely keep him from you."

Lucius raised an eyebrow, his mouth twisting up in a grim sort of smile. "You are a surprise, Ginevra Weasley." She was of no consequence to him and so he could afford to be slightly lax. Besides, the girl was practically a Slytherin in the Gryffindor house. Fate must have a sense of humor.

She frowned, confused at his lack of reaction to her revelation. He answered her question.

"I am not intimidated by your Thomas. Did you expect me to be?"

"Not intimidated," she admitted, "but not amused either."

"I am Malfoy," said Lucius. "Do you understand what that means?"

"I think I'm beginning to get an idea."

"Let me paint it clearer for you then," said Lucius. He pulled her closer so he could whisper in her ear. "It means I have a power your Thomas cannot control. It means that if I were to go after your family, I would not fail. Instead of a snake after your father, I would use a curse, one that never fails."

He could feel her tense and continued.

"Instead of a contingent of fools after your brother, I would go myself in the night. Instead of wasting time trying to build an army, I would strike first, when you were unprepared with no chance of defense."

"Why are you telling me this?" she demanded.

He gave her a smile. "So that you know, Ginevra. Keep your boyfriend away from me. I did only what was necessary the last time. If he forces my hand again, instead of a knife in his arm, I would put it-,"

She stumbled, grabbing onto his shoulder for balance, a pained gasp leaving her lips.

He steadied her. "Are you injured?" he asked, coming to a stop.

"I think I twisted my ankle," she said. "Serves me right for trying to dance in these shoes."

"Allow me to assist you to the table then," said Lucius, taking her arm.

She wasn't quite limping, but her steps were stilted. Draco was waiting for them at the top of the stairs, his eyes only on Ginny.

Lucius handed her over, aware of the parody in that motion. In the oldest of Pureblood traditions, the father always danced with the girl the eldest son was intending to marry, and during that dance he would quiz the girl, making sure she would make a suitable bride.

Lucius stared at his son, knowing that Draco would pick up the mirror of tradition as well and he waited, waited for the turn of Draco's head, the search for acknowledgement, approval.

Draco seemed to make a distinct effort to only look at Ginevra, as if telling himself not to turn to Lucius, not to seek out a sign of approval. Lucius continued to stare, willing the head to turn.

It was haltingly done, as if Draco was fighting the urge, but then the grey eyes slid up to his. Lucius smirked.

Draco flushed, immediately looking away.

It was a small victory but Lucius grasped onto it, unable to let this small consolation go. Draco steered his girlfriend back to the table as a waiter approached him, a letter in hand.

"This came for you sir," he said, handing over the card.

Lucius opened the message, skimming over the contents quickly. Normally such an emergency on his night away would have been met with resigned acceptance. Now Lucius was glad for the distraction.

He crossed over to the table because courtesy demanded that he give his regards.

"You must excuse me," he said without any formalities. "Some business calls my attention. Enjoy your night and put any remaining expenses on my tab. Farewell."

He didn't wait for Ginevra's startled well-wishes, or for Draco's cool nod, but turned on his heel and left.

At the lobby his coat was already waiting for him in the hands of a polished attendant.

"Shall I call up the Floo for you, or send for a car, sir?"

Lucius was much fonder of Apparating than Floo powder and the magically enhanced cars, but he glanced back towards the restaurant.

"Send for a car."

"Very good, sir. Would you like some tea while you wait, sir?"

"No," said Lucius, dismissing the man with a curt hand.

The porter rushed off and Lucius walked to the back of the lobby, striding past the elaborate powder and rest rooms and to the very last door, one not used by conventional guests. The door led through a long corridor of various management offices, still finely furnished. There was a door at the end of this hall as well and Lucius stepped through, coming out on a narrow, little used corridor that overlooked the dance floor. Across the floor was the dining area, but his usual table was empty.

Lucius frowned until he caught the flash of red hair. Draco and Ginevra were dancing, Ginevra not at all impeded by a twist ankle. Lucius wasn't surprised with the thought that she must have faked the injury to escape his threats.

They looked well together, moving fluidly among the other couples. They were conversing; Lucius could just make out the movement of their lips. Draco was not looking at Ginevra, his eyes always on the room around him, but his hand was wrapped more around her waist than the dance called for. Ginevra's eyes never left his face.

Draco turned her, his gaze straying from the dance floor up to the corridor where Lucius was standing. He stepped back quickly before he was spotted, not moving until Draco's eyes returned to the other partners. Lucius left the way he came; no doubt the car would be there soon.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hi! So you're probably wondering what happened to me. Um, nothing, but as I explained in my profile, I've been imagining this scene, the battle between father and son, since the end of the first story when I decided on a trilogy. I thought it would be easy to write then, but it wasn't. To give you an idea of how hard it was, this chapter is 25 pages on word. I had an extra 46 of unused dialogue and descriptions that were either too subtle or far too obvious. Yeah...crazy right?  
I realize maybe I went slightly anal with it all, but I'm really happy with the result. I am sorry it took so long, but I think it was worth it. How did you like it?

p.s. I won't be updating this Tuesday, but the week after. And the Latin that Lucius says is Hogwart's motto. I've always wanted someone to say it to Draco, and I really think it works.


	16. Dates and Hangovers

Disclaimer: The sad truth is that I do not own Harry Potter, so I must borrow the characters and the world they reside in. The happy truth it, because I borrow them, I can pretend that this is the way things actually happened…

More good news: Freddie lives! After three and a half weeks, I got him back, but this chapter, and two others, didn't make it. After reconstructing this one, however, I think it turned out better than the original.

I'm sorry about the wait, but when I got Freddie back, it was exam week at college, and then I had to move back home for the summer and send out a dozen applications in hopes for a job as taking care of Freddie took a lot. Now I'm back and onto the chapter!!

--

The sky was gradually shifting from black, to dark blue, to that light grey and pink fade in the east which meant the sun was starting to rise. It was cold, and Draco relished in the bite of winter air on his face, more than warm enough in his long dark coat. Ginny, whose dress was thin and whose accompanying short jacket was more for show than for use, had learned how a wizarding genius could get the temperature just right on a heating charm. Said wizarding genius was rewarded with a smile and a kiss.

Right now, Ginny was walking in that particular gait women have after a night in high heels, those careless, gliding, long steps where they don't quite pick up their feet and with the slight tremor of the ankle as they balance on the thin heel, causing their hips to sashay. It was sexy as hell, even more so because she had no idea how he enjoyed staring from behind as she walked.

"Don't tell me you're tired," she said, stopping so he would catch up. She suddenly narrowed her eyes. "Draco Malfoy, are you staring at my arse?"

Draco smirked. She glared at him, but despite the frown on her lips, she seemed to be pleased at the attention. She grabbed his hand and pulled him along, anchoring him at her side. He didn't complain, not even when she swung their arms as they walked. A few streetlamps flickered off and Ginny breathed in, staring up at the sky.

"This was fun," she said. "We should do it again sometime."

Draco's look said it all.

"Well, not all of it," she amended. "But the rest of it was fun."

It had been fun. After dancing and dessert, he taken her up to the roof, one of his favorite spots, and they'd gazed up at the stars, which were hard to see because of all the lights from the street, and stared down to see the couples leaving the club, Ginny laughing at some of their drunken antics.



From there Draco had taken her to a popular jazz lounge on the side streets where the undiscovered musicians awaited their big break. They had coffee to drink with biscottis to dip in. Ginny had then convinced him to take her to the ruins of Westgate Castle for some real stargazing. The castle was in the middle of nowhere, and was a popular magical tourist spot, but it was closed for the season. Ginny had told him there was no point to his being a genius if he didn't use it to get past Floo barrier wards every once in a while. Draco figured she had a point, and had properly adjusted the Floo to let them through.

He knew all of the constellations, of course, and pointed out a few, but simply staring up at the sky made them look different. They had Flooed to the Leakey Cauldron after that, to step back into the Muggle world, and Ginny had decided they should walk back instead of Apparating. It was a clear night, so Draco acquiesced. Along the way they had stopped at a twenty-four hour fish 'n' chips stand for a late dinner, or early breakfast.

Draco had eaten fish 'n' chips before, but only once or twice and so the novelty of the experience outweighed the grease on the food. They'd stopped off at a small playground to eat on the swings, and then Ginny had gone down the slide a few times, and then they resumed their trek home. They were close now.

"I'm surprised your parents let you go," he said.

"Me too," Ginny laughed. "But they couldn't really stop me, not after we'd been keeping-,"

Draco must have flinched, or tightened his grip on her hand or something because she cut herself off.

"Anyway," she continued, "Pansy was pretty certain where you went, and Fleur had this dress she was designing, so it was like I was supposed to run after you."

There was silence for a few moments before she spoke up again.

"Are you glad tha-?"

"Yes," he said, before she had finished asking the question. "Yes."

"Good," she said. "Pansy took me there, you know, but right after she spotted you, she saw Antony someone-or-other and ran off."

Draco's lips twitched.

"And that place," Ginny continued, "is…," she trailed off, looking for a word.

"It's a bit much," Draco agreed.

"That's an understatement," said Ginny. "It was fun but I don't think I'd want to go there on a regular basis."

"Nor would I," Draco agreed. It wasn't just the décor and atmosphere, it was the knowledge that, even if she hadn't been aware of it, people had been watching. They were always watching in there. Every move, every gesture. Even living his privileged life was not enough to make an exhibitionist out of himself.

Ginny giggled and he looked over, arching an eyebrow.

"Nor would I," she repeated back to him, affecting a posh tone. "Do you have any idea how priggish you come off sometimes?"

He didn't know how to answer. If it was Bill, he would shrug and probably agree without any concern for how he might be perceived. If it was anyone else, he'd shoot a comment back. Ginny was different though, and so he hesitated.

She tugged on his hand, pulling him closer to her.

"It's…endearing actually."

Well, good then, he supposed. He offered her a small quirk of a smile.

"Have I told you tonight that you look beautiful?" he asked.

"Mmm, yes, I believe I recall you mentioning something of the sort when we were dancing."

"I said you looked lovely then."

"On the roof?"

"Fetching."

"The jazz lounge."

"Stunning."

"Watching the stars."

"Breath-taking, but you just having me repeat compliments now, aren't you?"

She smiled. "Maybe."

"Well, you do," said Draco. "Every one of them."

He watched in never-ending fascination as her smile sweetened, pleased and flattered and slightly shy all at once. Her emotions were always visible; he was addicted to watching them change, feeling a sort of flush when he knew he was the cause of a smile or a blush.

She squeezed his hand, and then they were turning down the street. He stopped her before they walked up the front steps, needing to tell her before they were back. He had wanted to tell her the entire night, but now the words had escaped him. She waited patiently.

"I'm glad you came," he started haltingly. "I'm glad because it was fun tonight, and you look amazing, and I think that if you hadn't come…," but that wasn't the right way to say it, so he tried again. "I know it doesn't matter now, because everything turned out fine, and I'm not saying that it wouldn't have if you hadn't…," and there he was losing the point he was trying to make.

Ginny squeezed his hand. "I understand," she said. "You're glad I came, because it helped and we had fun tonight, but at the same time, you wish I hadn't because you didn't want me to meet Lucius and anything could have happened."

Draco nodded, relieved that she understood what he wasn't quite saying. "Tonight could have ended very differently."

"You really think so?"

Draco let out a breath, shrugging. "I can never tell with him."

"There was a lot more going on then I was aware of, wasn't there?"

"If you're aware of that then you probably picked up a good deal of it."

"I couldn't even tell who won."

Draco shook his head. "No one ever wins against Lucius Malfoy. You do your best to survive, and I suppose that's a victory in itself." He let out another breath, feeling tension dissipate slowly.

Ginny yawned, and they turned together towards the house, entering silently. No one was up, which Draco was thankful for, but as they made their way through the dining room there were footsteps on the stairs and Bill appeared, looking exceedingly tired.

Bill looked to Draco. "Are you-,"

"Yes," said Draco.

"Did you-?"

"Yes."

"How did-?"



"Fine."

Bill nodded, then turned to Ginny. "Have a good night?"

"Yeah," she answered.

"Good," said Bill. He turned back to Draco. "Are you sure-?"

"Yes."

"Good," he said again. "You do realize we'll talk more in the morning?"

"Yeah," said Draco.

"Alright," said Bill. "To bed, both of you."

They didn't protest. Draco just managed to change into a pair of pajama pants before falling in bed. He was asleep within seconds.

Being an insomniac meant that even after staying up all night, he didn't sleep for more than a few hours, and so at eleven, he was walking down the stairs, showered and dressed, and prepared to face the rest of the household. He was not prepared for a small child to run into his arms.

"Uncle Draco!" Laney cheered.

Draco blinked. "Laney?" he asked. "How…why?"

"Bill Flooed us," said Sam from the kitchen doorway, a mug of coffee in her hands. Sirius was beside her. "He said you could do with some family."

Draco looked over to the red-haired man who was holding Lucas in his arms. Bill smiled.

"Don't think this means we're not going to talk," he said.

"Of course not," said Draco.

"I'll get you some breakfast," said Sam. "You must be hungry."

"I could eat," Draco allowed.

"I could eat too," said Laney.

"You already had breakfast."

"I could have some hot chocolate," said Laney.

"Alright," said Sam, returning to the kitchen. Draco frowned as Sirius followed her in, offering to help.

"She likes him," Laney whispered to him.

Draco didn't respond to that.

Ginny came down a few minutes later, her hair still wet from a shower. It was apparent she had already been downstairs because she wasn't surprised to see Laney and when Sam returned with a breakfast plate for Draco, she had one for Ginny too.

"Thanks, Sam," said Ginny, taking the seat next to Draco. "Did you sleep well?"

"Fine," said Draco. "You're up rather early considering."

"Fred and George went into insane brother mode and woke me up when they got up just to be sure I was okay. Then, after I fell back asleep again, Ron came in followed by Dad and Mum. I figured I just wasn't meant to sleep today."

"Sorry," said Draco.

"Not your fault," said Ginny. "I ran after you, remember? So, what are your plans for today?"

Draco looked over to Sam and Laney. Sam spoke up.

"Laney hasn't seen the Wizarding Zoo, and being a vet myself, I think it might be an interesting sight to see."

Draco could think of several good reasons not to take them to the zoo, the first being the attack on their house by Death Eaters, but Sirius seemed to recognize his hesitation.

"Dumbledore's offered to come along," he said.

Draco raised an eyebrow. While the Headmaster's presence would prevent any Death Eater attacks, for some reason he couldn't see the old man taking the time to do such a mundane thing as accompany them to the zoo.

"Could we?" asked Laney, turning to Draco, eyes wide. "Can we go to the zoo?"

Draco couldn't deny those bright blue eyes so he shrugged. "Don't see why not," he said.

Laney turned to Ginny. "Are you coming as well?"

"I think we might as well make it a party," said Bill. "The more the merrier."

And the more people the better the protection. Draco met Bill's gaze and nodded.

"So," said Sam, turning to Draco. "You and Ginny were both out late last night, were you?" She raised her eyebrows, the unspoken question clearly annunciated with that expression.

Draco inwardly sighed. Ginny smiled and turned to Draco as well.

"We're dating," he said.

Sam burst into a grin and Laney cheered.

"I totally called that," Sam crowed to Sirius.

"No," said Sirius. "They've just started, how did-?"

"At the Hogwart's infirmary. I saw it and told him, didn't I, Draco?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "You may have mentioned something about it."

"No man can resist a red-head," Sam confirmed. "My one wish in life was to have red-hair."

"I don't know," said Sirius, "I like your hair." He reached up to tug a strand of it, shooting her a private smile and Draco set down his fork a little loudly. He raised an eyebrow when Sirius looked over.

"Right," said Black. "How about we go move into the kitchen where your dangerous half-brother-in-law can't see me to kill me."

"There are several spells for looking through walls, Black," said Draco. "I know them all."

"Ginny," said Sirius, "would you mind keeping your boy in line, and away from his wand?"

Ginny grinned. "I'm sure I can think of a few things we don't need magic for," she said with a sly look in his direction.

The adults laughed and Draco felt his cheeks flush.

"Eww, cooties," said Laney.

Draco should have known by now that it was impossible, when residing with the Weasleys, to have the experience known as a small, relaxing outing. Once news spread of a zoo trip, Harry had joined as he had never seen the wizarding zoo, and where he went, Ron and Hermione followed. Fred and George tagged along, it was that or straighten up their room, according to Mrs. Weasley, and the left Charlie with Fleur and little Lucas. From the expression of relief on Fleur's face, she could do with some peace and quiet, and Charlie still hadn't got over his cold.

"Go," he said. "Go and let me have an afternoon of peace, please." His odd intonations showed just how much his nose was stuffed up and made the last two words nearly indistinguishable.

Pansy tripped in the door at that moment, her coat hanging off one shoulder and her hair in an attractive, I've-just-had-sex disarray. She was grinning widely, swinging her purse by the gold strap.

"Hello!" she trilled, lilting into the dining room. "How are you? Draco, I missed you last night, I had to catch up with Antonio. How did the face off go with Lucius? Did you tell him to shove it up his arse?"

Draco stared at her.

"Well, you should have," said Pansy. She dropped into a chair at the table.

"Pansy, I swear to you, the day I wish to die an excruciating death, is the day I will tell Lucius to shove it up his arse," said Draco. He turned to Laney. "Don't swear; it's bad manners."

Laney giggled and Pansy finally seemed to take note of the group.

"Are we having a party?" she asked. "I adore parties. Just give me an hour to recuperate and another glass of wine to get rid of the hangover I feel is coming."

"We're going to the zoo," Laney informed her.

"The zoo?" Pansy asked.

"The place where they have the animals," said Ginny helpfully.

"Never been," said Pansy.

"You've never been to the zoo?" asked Ron in disbelief. "What about when you were a kid?"

"Debutante schools, high class social affairs, dances, afternoon tea with the Minister's wife…really no time for the animals."

"You should come," said Laney.

"Oh, I don't know, honey," said Pansy, patting the girl's hand. "I would hate to set a bad example."

"You might want to try changing out of the dress then," said Sam dryly.

Pansy looked down. "Oh," she said. "Good point."

The dress was a sapphire blue and Draco knew that a host of charms were keeping her from, well, spilling out.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You aren't really coming to the zoo."

"Hell no," said Pansy. "If all of you are leaving, I'm going to shower and sleep this hangover off." She turned to Laney. "Listen," she said, "word of advice from the older generation to the younger, if an Italian wizard ever wants to show you a few tricks he's learned without the aid of his wand, don't do six shots before hand because you will want to feel every bit of bliss that wizard can make you feel. When you come to, that's when you can take the shots so you can start all over again."

"Laney," said Draco, "if an Italian wizard ever wants to show you a few wandless tricks, he will find out exactly why the semiviri curse is Dark Magic, and if you ever do six shots or have to come to, you will be shipped off to Switzerland where you will be initiated into the Charity Witches Coven where you will distribute bread to the poor until you are forty-five. Pansy, how about you go upstairs and take a shower?"

Pansy laughed and gave a wink to Laney. "Come visit when you're of age, I'll show you how to party." She got up, passing by Draco to run her hands through his hair. "I've always loved your hair," she said, and then leaned in to take a deep breath of the spiced shampoo he used.

"Are you going to make it upstairs?" Draco asked.

"Watch me," said Pansy, and she proceeded to flaunt up the steps. Draco wondered how she did it, drunk and in stilettos.

He reached up, trying to settle his hair into place. Ginny laughed and reached over to help him.

"Is she a friend of yours, Draco?" Sam asked, frowning after the Slytherin.

"Ex-girlfriend," Ginny supplied.

"I think we need to have a talk later," Sam said.

At that moment the Floo flared up and Dumbledore arrived. Draco didn't think he would ever curse the man's sense of timing again.

"Shall we?" Dumbledore twinkled.

Draco ended up paying for everyone's admission into the zoo, not because he was particularly philanthropic, but because everyone was either related to or dating someone else in the large group, they ended up stalling at the booth trying to figure out who would pay for who, who owed who what, and who was actually going to be paying for so-and-so's present, so count this as early payback. Not only were they a large group, but in the group was Harry, Dumbledore, and 

himself, and they were attracting a lot of attention, so Draco shoved past the rest and slapped down his Gringott's charm. He turned to glare at the lot and jerked his head.

"Go," he said pointedly, and then turned back to the admissions officer while the transaction took place.

The Gringott's charm worked much like a debit card, where funds were immediately removed from one account and sent to another, but using charms instead of electronics. The cashier was efficient, and so Draco was soon passing through the gates to join the rest.

The zoo was thankfully climate controlled, and so coats were soon shrunk and pocketed all around. Laney was immediately running to the first exhibit, and Fred and George took it upon themselves to regress ten years and join in on her enthusiasm. Harry looked just as awed as Laney did and Hermione gave them all lectures on the animals they visited with textbook proficiency.

Draco hung further back, eyes constantly glancing between the party and the rest of the zoo. The other visitors stared as they walked by, and there were a few pointing fingers and whispers, but so far no threatening gestures.

Dumbledore hung back and fell in step beside him. Draco didn't acknowledge his presence.

"It's a beautiful day," said the Headmaster. The old man was too used to Snape's glowering silences to be put off by Draco's wary stillness.

"The weather charms are quite beautiful this time of year," he blandly agreed.

Dumbledore chuckled; Draco turned and raised his eyebrow. Dumbledore acquiesced by getting straight to the point.

"Were you aware of Grimmauld Place before being inducted into the Order?"

"Do you think the Death Eaters are aware of the building?" Draco countered. If so, he was sending Laney and Sam home this moment. He could Apparate them straight to London International Portkey Depot and have an emergency portkey setup within twenty minutes. He would then accompany them home to be sure that all of the proper wards were in place.

"There have been reports of seemingly random magical burglaries in homes that have ties to Order members," said Dumbledore.

"You think they are looking for the Headquarters."

"It is a possibility," Dumbledore allowed. "They do have the cloak of Merlin."

Shit, so they did. Draco had nearly forgotten about the magical cloak which allowed the wearer to pass through any sort of ward.

"I had known of the house," said Draco. "But knowing of it, and knowing where it is and how to get in are several different things. I'm right in assuming the location has changed from when the Blacks owned it, yes?"

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed.

"I had also thought that the house was unfit for human use. Dark magic homes have a tendency of deteriorating when left uninhabited."

"It nearly was, when we first moved in. Would it be possible to track the house?"

Draco frowned, looking through books in his mind.

"For an exact location, you would need to have the inheritance books, which should be in the house?" The end was a question.

"Yes, the books are in the library."

"That doesn't mean they couldn't find it, just that it would be more difficult. I could work out a more exact method of finding the Headquarters when we get back," said Draco.

"No, don't trouble yourself," said Dumbledore. "I have ways of dealing with the situation myself. I was just wondering if you had run across any copies of the books. If any place were to have illegal information, I have no doubt it would be the Malfoy Library."

"It would," Draco agreed.

They walked in silence for a few moments, watching Fred and George swing Laney in the air as she laughed and then watching the couple beside the harpie cage as they stared. Their group was getting quite the following, but so far people were just pointing with their fingers and pulling out cameras, not wands.

"I don't suppose you've read anything on Horcruxes, have you?" Dumbledore asked casually. Far too casually.

Draco kept his eyes on the visitors, not betraying his interest. "No. I hadn't even heard of them until last year. I've been gathering information as I go, but so far I haven't seen any real detailed information. Was there something in particular you were looking for?"

"No," said Dumbledore. "Again, just wondering if the Malfoy Library had anything more on the subject."

"Lucius kept several books in his study. I've never had the chance to look through them, but they were ancient Dark Magic books. They could have details about the Horcruxes, but I can't say for certain."

Dumbledore nodded, getting a thoughtful look on his face.

"I'm sorry I'm not anymore help," said Draco.

"Don't be sorry at all. It's a terrible thing when children so young learn of such dark objects."

"I'm hardly a child, Headmaster."

"To some," Dumbledore replied infuriatingly. "To some."

And then he drifted over to Sirius' side and the conversation was over. Draco scowled and turned to survey the visitors again. Ginny walked back to him and reached out a hand. He took it.

"Relax," she said, smiling.

"I am."

"Liar."

But that was all she said, so Draco fell in step with her and turned his attention to the furry animals in the cage before them.

--

Charlie was sick.

His head ached, his nose was stuffed, and breathing through his mouth made his throat sore, or rather, sorer than it already was. He was looking forward to a day with the house to himself because that meant wearing his flannel pajama pants and his old, torn MySpell t-shirt (classic rock all the way!), crashing on the couch with the latest Bret Henderson mystery novel, and listening to some soothing freestyle jazz on the radio. There was plenty of lemon tea and honey, thanks to his mother, and some soup he could simply heat with a spell.

So he made sure Fleur and Lucas were all right, from the doorway as he hadn't wanted to infect the baby, and then went straight for his room to change into his comfort clothes. After adding a thick pair of socks, he started down the hall, book in hand. It was then he heard the unmistakable sound of retching from the bathroom. It must be Draco's friend Pansy. From what he understood, he and Pansy had been together on and off throughout Hogwarts, but nothing had ever been serious between them.

He stopped and knocked on the door.

"You alright?"

There was another round of retching and he opened the door. Pansy was kneeling beside the toilet, manicured hands gripping the porcelain. A towel was wrapped around her body and her hair was wet from her shower and falling over her face. Charlie grimaced and stepped forward to pull her hair back, and quickly turned away as she threw-up again. When the heaving subsided, he looked back.

"Alright?" he asked.

The girl was pale, but she nodded, turned green, and heaved again.

"Must have been some party, huh?" he asked.

"Never been able to stomach whiskey," she said, voice huskier than normal. She reached over to pull the flush.

"You've, uh, got some in your hair," said Charlie, gingerly holding out the ends of her hair.

She groaned, but scooted over to the tub, turning the faucet on and dunking her head under. She groped for her wand, which he handed over, and she performed a few cleaning charms on her hair, and then the standard mouth-washing spell. She spat into the tub, rinsed her mouth again, made sure her hair was clean and then shut the tap off.

Charlie stood by as she wrung her hair out and was able to catch her elbow as she swayed when she finally righted herself. He'd been partier himself in his school days, still did party with his friends back at the Dragon Caves, and knew what a hangover could do to one's balance.

"Thanks," she said, and he didn't know how she managed to smile at him, or how she managed to wink as well. He was surprised even further when she picked up her bag from the floor, her dress lay discarded on the tiles as well, and proceeded to take out a complete make-up store from a minuscule handbag.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Mmm," she said, picking through the various boxes and tubes and pencils and Merlin knows what. She made a face at her reflection in the mirror, her hand rising to try to run through her hair.

Honestly, Charlie didn't know what the problem was. She was a stunning girl, even without the make-up, and no one should look that good hung-over. She looked downright sexy.

Her skin was flawless and tan, her eyes dark and lashes full, even without the charms. Her lips were pink and pouting, her hair was perfectly long and wavy. He already knew, from the scanty clothes she liked to wear, and from looking at her now (the towel revealed an ample amount of cleavage and stopped mid-thigh) that she had a body better than some of the pin-ups he had in his room as a teenage boy.

She was not happy though, that was apparent by her heavy sigh. She stepped back to open the drawer under the sink, but her foot stepped in her silky dress, and she slipped. Charlie was right there to catch her.

She grabbed onto him for balance, resting her head back on his shoulder before turning towards his neck.

"Mm, you smell good," she said, eyes closed.

Charlie figured she was pretty out of it.

"Let's get you back to your room, huh?" he asked.

She turned fully and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Okay," she said.

Charlie gazed at himself helplessly in the mirror. One thing at a time.

He walked her carefully back to her room and set her gently on the bed. He rifled through her dresser, figuring she wouldn't mind if he did see her matching black lace underwear and bra set, complete with fishnets and garters (a teenager's wet dream), because most of the time it was visible anyway. He was looking for something like he was wearing, worn and comforting without the threat of anything falling out, but all he came across were skimpy silk shirts and short skirts.

"I'll be right back."

He went to his room and grabbed a pair of flannel pajama pants and another t-shirt, George Roman this time (a wicked jazz guitarist who had started out with the classic rock band The Riders, but after the band disbanded, came out with a breakthrough album introducing his electric guitar and heavy distortion to the jazz classics). When he came back, Pansy was sitting exactly where he had left her.

"Here you go," he said, and then pulled the shirt over her head. She was aware enough to put her arms through the sleeves, and then he helped her up. The shirt was longer than some skirts she wore, falling to mid-thigh, and so he pulled the towel off of her without any embarrassment and helped her into the pajama bottoms.

"All set?" he asked.

She nodded and sat back on the bed.

"Good," he said, and turned to leave.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Sitting on the couch with tea, a book, and light jazz," he said.

"Sounds good," she said, and held up her arms like a child.

Charlie was a good-natured, easy going, caring sort of man, so he picked her up, bridal style, and carried her down the stairs to the living room. Working with dragons meant a lot of heavy lifting and physical exertion, so even though he was sick, carrying her was easy. It also helped that she was slender, no doubt from strict dieting.

So Charlie did have his afternoon of reading, sipping tea, and listening to light jazz; he just had some company too. Pansy curled up, leaning heavily on his shoulder for the first three chapters, falling asleep and drooling a bit on his shirt (he didn't mind at all). By chapter four she was shifting about, no doubt feeling a bit of strain in her neck, so Charlie pulled a pillow onto his lap and helped her lie down. He stroked her hair while reading because hair that soft should not be neglected. At chapter nine, she seemed to come into consciousness a little more and drifted in and out while resting against his chest.

It was then that the group came back from the zoo, laughing and talking loudly. Pansy groaned and tried to bury her head further into his sternum and he chuckled and took up stroking her hair again, which earned him a luxurious groan of approval that sounded frankly pornographic.

Footsteps sounding in the hall caught his attention and he looked up to see Draco Malfoy walking past, obviously going into the study that had been set up for his use, but the teen glanced in as he walked passed and he froze, eyebrows rising.

"Pansy?" he asked. There was a hint of incredulity and concern in the cool tone. He stepped into the room, eyebrows furrowing.

"Mmff," said Pansy succinctly, waving him away with a flop of her hand.

It was obviously less than reassuring because Draco took one step closer. "Are you ill?"

"No, just hung over," said Pansy, into Charlie's chest. "I drank whiskey."

It was said as if that was supposed to answer all of Draco's questions, but the kid didn't leave.

"But why-?" he started, but Pansy turned over, pushing her tangled hair away from her face.

"This is what you would have woken up to every day if you had proposed to me like you parents wanted you too."

Charlie stared in surprise. That was a bit of interesting information, and suddenly he found himself scrutinizing the Slytherin with a more than critical eye.

Draco shook his head. "There are beauty spells for night," he said. "You know them."

"But I would have gotten sick of using them," said Pansy. "Not everyone is as perfect as you, you know?"

"I'm not perfect," came the quick response, but Pansy seemed to be irritated.

"Oh, come on," she said. "Name one time you've had a bad hair day, or went to class hung over, or had bags under your eyes. Name the one time you haven't been in perfect control of yourself or had all of the answers. I don't always look perfect, alright? Get over it!"

Draco stared, blinking once, but keeping silent. His fingers were tapping together in some sort of pattern as he regarded her with that unreadable expression.

"I've just never…," he started. "I was…concerned, but apparently my apprehensions are unfounded. I did not mean to imply that you were looking bad – I've told you a thousand times that you never needed the charms – and I apologize for any offense you might have taken. I hope you feel better."

Charlie met Draco's measuring gaze, and then the boy was turning sharply on his heel and walking to the door. He stopped before he reached the hall and looked back.

"I don't always have everything under control," he said to Pansy. "I suppose you have yet to be informed of my condition when I first arrived here." And then he was stepping out and turned the corner, disappearing from view.

Pansy groaned and ran her hands through her hair. "I don't suppose that was called for," she said, obviously referring to her snap.

"Maybe not," said Charlie.

"What did he mean, condition when he first came here?" asked Pansy.

Normally Charlie would be loathed to speak of the events that had occurred, but it seemed as if Draco had almost given him permission, so he explained.

"He was high or coming down from a hit. It was after he'd been disowned, and Bill half-carried him back here. He spent the first day locked in a bedroom as he detoxed."

Pansy stared, eyes wide. "Draco?" she asked. "Draco uses drugs?"

Charlie shrugged. "From what I understand, his mother introduced him to Angel-Flight when he was younger without his knowledge, and getting disowned just tipped him over the edge."

Pansy still looked shocked, as if she had just learned that Voldemort was giving up his diabolical ways to fulfill his life-long dream of becoming a go-go dancer in Vegas.

"For two people who were supposed to get married, you don't really know a lot about each other, do you?" he asked.

Pansy settled back down, leaning against his shoulder. "We know each other's public personas intimately," she said. "The rest never really mattered before."

And that was one of the most tragic things Charlie had ever heard. Pansy sighed and closed her eyes. Charlie brushed through her hair once and turned back to his book. He wanted to know if the hero got the girl in the end.

--

Sooo, originally I wanted Ron with Pansy, but she just seemed to click with Charlie. I think she needs someone a little more stable and comfortable affectionate. What do you think? Leave one!


	17. PreChristmas Chaos

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's note: Sorry this is late. Real life is hectic like you wouldn't believe right now, what with my job starting and trying to reconstruct this chapter and etc. I also didn't get a chance to edit this really well or reply to reviews, but thanks so much to all of you, you've been a great encouragement, and hopefully next week will be vastly calmer. Thanks again!

--

Sam and Laney stayed two more days. It was different, being with the two of them, and not just because they were related -- however so slightly. Sam and Laney didn't really know him, and because of that they had heard of, but were not familiar, with the stigma that came with the name 'Malfoy'. Because they didn't know his past, or his family heritage, he found he was freer to express himself. Not that he burst into peals of laughter, or anything, but he held Laney's hand when they went to the museum, and he smiled (almost) when he and Sam went out for coffee just to talk, mostly about Lukas and how Laney was doing at her new home.

Sam and Sirius went out a couple of times as well. Draco figured Sam could do worse, but he didn't think the relationship was exactly feasible at the moment. After all, they were an ocean away, but he wasn't going to begrudge her any happiness.

As much as he had enjoyed the few days with him, the constant presence of others grew tedious. It wasn't that he was anti-social, he was just emotionally distant and overly socially conscious, something that had served him well in the high social circles, but when it meant dealing with close-knit family and friends, he was largely at a loss. It didn't help that Pansy had finally moved in with Blaise, leaving Draco completely alone in the house of Gryffindors. So when he saw Sam and Laney off after a large good-bye dinner, it was with a mixture of regret and relief. He immediately escaped to his study and began working on his neglected projects.

Bill came in later that evening, gently bouncing Lukas on his shoulder.

"Busy couple of days?" he asked.

"Mm," said Draco, not even bothering to deign proper English on that question.

Bill laughed, crossed over to him, and placed Lukas in his arms. Draco tried to refuse, but it wasn't as if he could just let the baby fall to the floor. He glared at Bill while gingerly holding the infant.

"You're his godfather," said Bill shrugging.

Draco made a face at the tiny bundle in his arms. Lukas was incredibly round for a regular baby, but taking into account his Veela heritage (full-blooded Veela were actually grown in an egg-like shell in the mother's womb), he was actually a bit on the scrawny side. He would become more regularly baby-shaped as time wore on.



Bill pulled out the chair across from him and sprawled in it, regarding Draco with amused hazel eyes. Draco ignored him for the first few minutes, keeping his eyes on Lukas and looking for any signs of discomfort in case he was holding him wrong and making sure the baby wasn't suddenly going to flail and slip out of his grasp. He gradually relaxed when the baby seemed content to stare up at him. Normal babies could see much at all when they were first born, but again, Lukas was part Veela and he seemed to find Draco's face interesting enough.

"Ginny says that your meeting with Lucius went well, all things considering," said Bill.

Draco risked looking up. "That seems to sum it up."

He looked back down again, checking on Lukas, paranoid.

"I doubt it," said Bill. "I know you. Things always have double meanings, sometimes triple meanings. You could have had five different conversations, and the rest of us would only pick up on one or two."

Draco sighed, and then found that if he cradle Lukas with his left arm, and gently held onto Lukas' hands with his right, he could feel if the kid was squirming and readjust his grip. He looked up with Bill, shifting in his chair to get more comfortable.

"It could have gone badly. As it is," he paused to shrug, "I don't know what held Lucius back."

"What do you mean?" asked Bill.

Draco shrugged. "I don't really know what I mean."

"You don't know, or you don't want to think about it?"

Draco grimaced. "I don't want to think about it."

"Why not?"

"I obviously have reasons, but I don't want to think about those either."

"You can't just shove it away," said Bill.

"Watch me," Draco muttered, more to Lukas than Bill.

"Are you scared?" asked Bill.

"What?"

"Are you scared to think of the reasons Lucius had for holding back?"

"No. I just might be wrong about the reasons."

Draco saw the lift in Bill's eyebrows, the expression that meant he had already guessed the answers.

"You think Lucius held back because he cares about you," said Bill.

Well, if he had already said it…

"I can't think of any other reasons," said Draco shortly. "And it's driving me insane because there has to be something else, but nothing else fits the way…I can think of a few compound reasons, but he's never let them affect him before…I just…," he trailed off.

"What do you want the reason to be?" asked Bill.

"That has nothing to do with it."

"It has everything to do with it. Draco, it's okay to want him to care about you. It's okay to think that maybe you're the reason."

"I could be wrong, Bill. I'm not infallible."

"And you don't want to be wrong on this," said Bill. "You don't want to invest yourself too deeply."

"I'm not invested. Disowned, remember?"

"Draco, he's your father."

"Not anymore."

"Only officially. You said yourself it only makes sense that he was holding back because of you. Obviously the legal system doesn't have a say on blood relations, only in name."

Draco shook his head, pushing away that bit of hope. "There's bound to be another reason."

"Draco," Bill paused, let out a breath, and then seemed to find the words. "Draco, it's okay to want to be the reason. It's okay to want him to care about you."

"I don't-," Draco started, but Bill wasn't finished.

"And just the same, it's okay for you to care about him."

"No, it's not. Not after…just no. Not anymore. He has done too much."

"Is this about the disownment or the diary?"



Draco wanted to say neither; the answer was both. He stayed silent.

"He's still your father," said Bill. "He's still done right by you on more than one occasion, and I think that means he must care. Even if you aren't the reason he held back, it's okay to want to be. It's okay to open yourself up to the chance of getting hurt."

"That's absolutely ridiculous."

"I can see how it would sound ridiculous to you, but I think in the end, refusing to acknowledge your feelings is doing you more harm. Even though you might get hurt this time, you'd realize that more people care about you than you think. I'm not saying it's any substitute for a father, but in some cases, we can make our own family."

Draco looked down at Lukas in his arms and shrugged. Maybe.

He was up early the next day, rushing through breakfast because he really was falling behind on his work and there were lives that could be saved if he was able to pick up the trail of the Horocrux. Not to mention that Dumbledore still had to get back to him on his ideas for warding the Order headquarters against the Cloak of Merlin and he really had to check his investments if he wanted to stay in the public eye. He would have to make a killing this holiday season to keep his newfound power. He knew the other Purebloods would be doing everything they could to topple him.

He was so preoccupied with these thoughts that he hardly noticed when the dining room table began to fill. He finally jerked up when Ginny sat beside him, stifling a yawn but smiling in greeting. He pushed over his coffee mug and she took a sip and then answered his unspoken question.

"We're starting Christmas decorating today," she said. "Want to help?"

"Christmas decorating?" asked Draco.

"Yup. Garland and lights around the house, some mistletoe, maybe even finding a Christmas tree this afternoon."

Draco had never really put much thought into it, but he supposed that poorer families must put up their own decorations. Malfoy Manor was always decorated by the house elves, and having to put one's own time and energy into the task seemed liked a complete waste. It would just go down again in a week or so, besides, there was a war going on.

Draco excused himself from the decorating and went to his study, but he was frequently interrupted with requests to hold the Floo open so ornaments could be brought over from the Weasley house or help untangle a string of magical bulbs. He tried to teach them the charm, he really did, but they didn't really seem to be paying attention.



Each time he stepped out of his study, the chaos grew worse and worse. Garlands, real, live ones that shed needles all over the floors and not the expensive, charmed, self-hanging ones, were suspended from every wall. Light strands twisted around the boughs and lay in tangled heaps on the floor, ready to trip the unsuspecting. Ron, Hermione, and Harry were making paper chains of all things, with red and green and gold paper. Tiny, moving figures of St. Nicholas and elves were spread over every flat surface, and scented candles were lit, dispersing cinnamon and nutmeg odors into the already pine-scented halls. Charmed mistletoe whizzed from doorway to doorway, and Draco had to speed through entryways to avoid being caught under it.

It was a madhouse, full of laughter and music and directions to how to properly make paper snowflakes or hang a wreath. It was overwhelming and Draco was constantly invited to join in.

He was sick of the noise and attention, which made him curt, but part of him wanted to join in. He remembered Christmases in France with Lukas, when he watched the house elves put up the Christmas tree. He remembered shopping, and street carolers, and steaming mugs of hot chocolate. He remembered perfectly, but he also remembered the Christmases in England, with pristine decorations and a house full of dignitaries. He remembered waving good-bye to Lucius who was off to some party or other and being left alone with a tutor on Christmas Eve, and not seeing anyone else until New Years. He remembered, when he was older, sitting alone on the floor in front of the fireplace in the library with a stack of books and steadily working his way through them.

He remembered one Christmas like that, a particularly dismal holiday with grey skies and rain and being alone for five days. He read straight through Christmas, fell asleep right where he was Christmas night, and when he woke up the next morning, Lucius was sitting on the armchair across from him, returned early from the Minister's party.

Lucius had the house elves pack their bags and they left for a small Italian wizarding town. They spent three days there, Lucius only working mornings, and the rest of the time was divvied up however Draco pleased.

But Draco didn't like thinking of such things because it just reminded him how very far he was removed from his old life and how far he was separated from this new life as well. The thoughts were melancholic, and he really didn't need to be battling his emotions as well as working, so he simply made his distinct, bordering on rude, refusal at the invitations to help decorate and hid back in his study.

He was called out for lunch, which he attended, but not without reservations, for no sooner had he sat down, Ginny turned to him.

"We're going Christmas tree hunting this afternoon," she said. "You should come."

"To cut down a Christmas tree," said Draco.

"Of course you should come," said Harry, looking like a five year old, with his green eyes shining. He was practically vibrating with excitement.

Draco had to remind himself that the boy hero did spend most of his life in a cupboard and so making a snide comment would be inappropriately cruel. Merlin, he was turning into a Gryffindor, wasn't he?

The thought made him frown.

"No," he said.

"Oh, come on, Draco. Have a little fun. It's Christmas," said Ginny.

"I have to go into town this afternoon for business," said Draco. "Then I have more work to do."

"But Christmas is only once year."

"And it will come next year too."

"And will you actually take time to enjoy Christmas next year?"

Draco realized that the entire table seemed to be listening in on the conversation and he scowled. "It depends."

"Well aren't you the festive spirit," said Fred from the end of the table.

"Not a wet blanket at all," said George.

"By far, one who understands the true meaning of Christmas," said Fred.

"And warms our hearts with his joy," George finished.

Draco glared; Ginny laughed.

"Hermione, you know a good cheering charm, don't you?" asked Ron.

"Good idea, Ronnikins."

"Quite smart."

"I'd like to see you try," said Draco.

"That a challenge, Malfoy?" asked Fred, a gleam in his eyes.

"We could take you," said George.

Draco snorted. "Your attempts would be laughable."



"It would be a rather straight forward plan of attack," said Fred, and to Draco's askance, he actually pushed his plate away from him, eyeing the distance to Draco.

"How plebian," said Draco, wanting to avoid such a confrontation. Roughhousing was a concept he had only heard of and didn't wish to become personally familiar with the experience. "Fighting, at the dinner table."

"Yeah, well it's also the breakfast table," said George. "All holds are off."

"And that makes everything better," Draco snapped. He pushed himself to his feet. "If you will excuse me, I have business to attend, and wish to be off without engaging in hand to hand combat."

Ginny grabbed the back of his shirt when he tried to move away.

"Hey," she said, "what's wrong?"

Her eyes were concerned, head tilted to the side, confused. Draco was confused as well, not quite sure how the battle of wits had escalated, but he had never taken teasing well and he really was through with the holiday. He was also completely done with everyone pointing out how he couldn't seem to let go of the fact that they were at war.

"Nothing," he said shortly.

"Oh, sit down. Don't leave in a huff. Fred and George were only teasing, right?" She turned on the twins with a hard gaze, but they weren't to be tempered.

"Umm, not really, actually."

"Well, you have to admit, Gin-kins. He really could use a cheering charm."

Ginny turned to Draco. "You were being a little priggish."

Draco didn't take public criticism well, and maybe if she and he had been in private he could have accepted it, but they were in the dining room eating lunch and several of the adults looked exceedingly amused. His cheeks flushed a pale pink and he sneered.

"My sincerest apologies."

"Maybe he really could use that cheering charm," said Hermione, regarding him with a concerned expression, and Draco had to grind his teeth together to keep from cursing. When he did speak, it was coolly.

"Cheering charms only work on those who want to be cheered."

"So you admit you're resisting the cheer of the holiday to remain dank," said Ginny.

"No," said Draco. "I just seem to be the only one that remembers that this is no time for frivolities, and that our main attention should be on the war and not some tradition that has been exploited to benefit the economy. Now, I really must be gone as I have matters of the upmost importance to attend to, and by upmost, I mean the kind that could save your lives as I seem to be the only person who is thinking clearly at this moment."

And he stalked away, not bothering to Floo, but Apparating when he was a few feet from the table.

His business affairs took less time than he originally thought they would, so afterwards he saw to a few gifts that weren't exactly purchasable and then perused Knockturn Alley for a few things that he could use in hopes to ward the Order from the Cloak of Merlin. Dumbledore had yet to share his own methods of protecting the Order, but he was supposed to arrive at Grimmauld Place that evening.

In hopes to get more accomplished, Draco spent the rest of the afternoon at his flat working. He was largely distracted by his keyboard, but the afternoon was a productive one. He Flooed back in time for dinner, which meant that he arrived just as the Christmas Tree Expedition arrived with a tree that was most obviously not going to fit in the living room. It was far too tall, and quite fat, and was altogether a very healthy looking tree.

"Bloody hell," he swore, when the tree appeared in the hall, nearly toppling him as he made his way to his study.

"Oi, Malfoy," shouted one of the twins, Draco couldn't tell which as the tree branches obscured his vision. "Help us get it into the living room."

"It's not going to fit," said Draco.

"We were thinking that maybe you wouldn't mind expanding the ceiling," came Ginny's voice.

"This house is over a hundred years old," said Draco.

"Is that bad?"

"Architecture spells have been improved to allow for expansion without structural damage. Did you really need a tree this big?"

"It's Christmas," said Hermione. "We're allowed to be extravagant."

Draco sighed and then tried to peer around the tree, but there was no way he was getting by and there was no way the tree was getting through the door. He would have to Apparate it in and expand the ceiling there. It was already past lunch; this was going to take another chunk out of his schedule.



He got in another hour before dinner by the time the tree was set up, unfortunately dinner consisted of 'fingerfoods', so that the tree could be decorated during the evening meal.

Not only had Draco never decorated a tree before, it seemed every ornament had sentimental value to which the Weasley's exclaimed over and shared stories before floating it up on tree. They weren't exclusive about the memories, in fact, Sirius, Harry, and Hermione fit right in, asking questions and occasionally chiming in their own stories, although Harry had none to share, and the three didn't appear to be intruding in on a family Christmas at all.

Draco, however, was out of his element. He could have made an effort to be included, but he was overwhelmed, exhausted, and in no mood to muster any Christmas cheer. The radio was switched on soon, Christmas music pouring out, and the family actually began to sing, and with harmonies and descants as well. Draco was astounded. He had no idea people actually sang around the Christmas tree; it was story-book cliché and antiquated and oddly charming.

"Come hang some ornaments," said Ginny, motioning him over to the tree. Draco gazed at the sea of boxes and spelled paper to prevent any broken ornaments and then at the tree which was being spread liberally and randomly with porcelain angels and snowmen. He shook his head.

"Please?" said Ginny.

"I set the bloody thing up," said Draco.

"But you haven't hung an ornament."

"I'll live."

"Are you just going to sit there then?"

"No," said Draco, "I have to finish my work."

"You've been working all day. Take some time off."

"It's important."

"So is this."

"No, it's really not," said Draco, before he could temper what he was going to say.

Ginny frowned; Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"It's a tree," he said, trying to explain.

"A _Christmas_ tree," said Ginny.

"Right, and this whole Christmas thing is all well and good, it's just…it takes a lot of time."

"Time spent with family and friends."

"And that time can't be spent with family and friends if this war is lost."

"And you're not going to end the war this evening."

"It would greatly help."

Ginny gave him an unconvinced look.

"It's just that, you're only going to have to take it all down again," said Draco.

"Well, yeah," said Ginny.

"So it hardly seems worth the hassle, is all," said Draco.

Silence met his words and he realized that the radio was turned low, the room watching the two, staring at Draco. The festive mood was broken. Draco swore underneath his breath and stood.

"I've got things to do," he said, and quickly exited the room. He didn't stop until he reached his study and shut the door behind him, leaning against the wood and swearing again.

He was at a loss on what to do. He knew that he wasn't thinking before he spoke, knew that there were several things he could be doing that might actually improve his standing in the Order. He could simply hang a few ornaments for one, and then beg off. He could have made a few comments about the size of the tree instead of glowering about being pulled away from his projects. Really, he could have done a lot, but he couldn't help shake the feeling that nothing he did would ever be enough, that he wouldn't quite close that separation. Maybe looking in is the farthest he would ever get.

Draco dismissed the thoughts again, never one to dwell in his emotions more than necessary. He turned back to his projects, not emerging from his study until his shoulders ached from leaning over the desk and his eyelids stayed closed longer than they stayed open. It wasn't very late at night, but Draco decided it was time for bed anyway. He could always get up early.

He closed his books and opened the door. Immediately the sounds of voices became clear, the silencing charms on the room keeping all the noise out. He started down the hall, his footsteps silent as he'd pulled off his boots in his study and was now walking in sock feet. He had yet to turn the corner into the room when he realized they were talking about him. He stopped short and listened.

"He hasn't smiled, the entire time he's been here, Albus," Mrs. Weasley was saying in a low voice. So Dumbledore was finally here.



"Mum, I've seen him smile once or twice since I've known him. He's just not emotionally expressive." That was Bill.

"But Molly has a point," said Mr. Weasley. "He's been particularly difficult these past few days."

"He's just concerned," said Bill. "He's very logical and he doesn't understand things which aren't based on scientific truths."

"But he's a genius," said Lupin.

"Who has had limited experience with interpersonal relationships," said Bill.

"But every child understands Christmas," countered Lupin.

"Maybe he's not just used to our type," said Mrs. Weasley. "You should have seen the look he gave to the garland. Granted it's a little crooked and sheds needles, but he looked at it like it was poison."

"He's probably just used to the charmed decorations, and used to the house elves doing the work," said Mr. Weasley.

"And he didn't know about paper snowflakes, nothing at all."

"Like the Malfoy home would have paper snowflakes?" asked Sirius. "Aristocratic families celebrate in style. Fake, magicked trees with real gold and silver ornaments, the best food there is on the finest china with crystal goblets. The children receive a roomful of gifts each and bitch when they don't get the right color toy. Believe me, I did for a little while."

"So that's it then?" asked Mrs. Weasley. "He's just used to extravagance?"

"That's not it," said Bill, sounding rather testy.

"Has he talked to you?" asked Lupin.

There was a pause. Draco remembered telling Bill, the first year they met, how his mother liked to go off visiting other men and how his father was usually gone. He remembered telling Bill that he bought his own presents and was reimbursed at a later time. His fingers flew through their pattern; he hoped Bill wouldn't say anything.

"I just don't think he's used to a big deal being made out of the holiday, that's all."

Draco slowed his fingers down to a steady pace, grateful to the other man, but Bill usually did know when confidences were given.

"Then he should be excited about a party instead of sulking about the house," said Mrs. Weasley.

"It is a bit disconcerting," said Sirius.

"Like this evening, when we were singing carols. Albus, he stood there, looking exactly like Lucius Malfoy, and refusing to join in or hang ornaments, and he just left the room."

"How bad was the singing?" Dumbledore asked, finally speaking up, and Sirius burst into laughter.

"Maybe he didn't know any carols," said Bill quietly.

"It's not possible to get through Christmas without singing carols, or hearing them at a party," said Mrs. Weasley. "And even if he didn't, he's decidedly unapproachable and bitter. And when the kids invited him to go Christmas tree hunting, he nearly started a fight with Fred and George."

"Mum, Fred and George nearly started the fight," said Charlie.

"But it takes two sides to have a fight."

"And then, when we were hanging ornaments and Ginny asked him to help. Do you remember what he said?"

"Mum, I don't think he really meant it," said Charlie.

"He might have meant it," said Bill, "but he wasn't raised with such a to do about it all."

"What did he say?" asked Lupin.

"That it hardly seemed Christmas was worth such hassle," said Mrs. Weasley. "And earlier he said it was just an old tradition exploited for the business to make a profit."

"We've our own little Scrooge, wouldn't you say, Albus?" asked Sirius.

Draco turned on his heel and went back to his study before he heard the answer.

--

Bill frowned as Draco left the room. He knew that the holiday was causing some tension between Draco and the rest of the house, but he assumed that it would pass. Draco usually didn't let such things bother him, but then again, the boy had been pressed to join in every single holiday activity, and not always in a nice way. Bill sighed. He would have to chat with his family. Maybe if they laid off him for a bit he would feel more welcome, or at least less irritated.

He forgot how long it took to hang the Christmas ornaments. Most of them were old, dating back to the childhood years when they would make decorations out of clay or tin foil. Some were 

antique, ones that their grandparents had passed on, made of porcelain and hand painted by wizarding artists. There was a story for each one.

Harry ate up the stories. This was his second family Christmas, his first with Sirius. It was heart wrenching to think of what his other Christmases must have been like to make such simple things like hanging ornaments such a pleasure.

Bill had thought that Draco was a lot like Harry, not a lot of Christmas memories and he wondered why Harry was so keen to make them and why Draco seemed so intent on not making any. He figured it out when a French Christmas carol played over the radio.

Harry hadn't had any happy memories of a Christmas. Draco did, before his half-brother had died. Maybe he even had a few good memories with Lucius after the move to England. Whatever they were, his traditions would have been vastly different from the celebrations now. Draco had never done well with integrating his past with his present because he had changed so much. No doubt he felt very much out of place here, unable to decide if he should try to join in or merely watch.

Bill would need to talk with Draco. Not tonight, not when things were already strained. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe he could also convince Draco to take some time off, not a full day, but the kid needed to have a breather. That decided, he settled back, flicking his wand and sending a snowman ornament up to the top of the tree which had several bare patches where branches were showing. It wouldn't be a Weasley Christmas tree until it was completely covered with ornaments of every color, shape, and size.

It was late by the time the tree was finished. The kids went to bed, planning on shopping in the morning, and the adults retired to the dining room table. Albus had yet to arrive and so they brewed a pot of tea while they waited. The Headmaster stepped out of the Floo fifteen minutes later.

"My apologies," he said. "I got hung up with a bit of business with the school board. Seems Hogwarts might be opening back up a little late this year."

He sat down at the table and Molly got him a cup of tea.

"I, of course, expect the students to be devastated." His blue eyes twinkled and Bill smiled. "Speaking of students," Dumbledore continued, "is Draco still up? I have a few things to run by him."

Some of the table exchanged looks.

"It can wait until tomorrow," said Dumbledore. "I just thought he might still be awake."

"He is," said Bill. "He's in his study."

"He's been there all day," said Sirius, "or close to it."

Dumbledore smiled. "Yes. I had never thought him as a Christmas lover, too much good will and cheer around. Severus detests the holiday as well. He's been hiding out in his dungeons. Perhaps I should send him over someday; he can keep Draco company."

"But it's not just the holiday," said Molly. "He hasn't smiled, the entire time he's been here, Albus."

"Mum, I've seen him smile once or twice since I've known him. He's just not emotionally expressive," said Bill in Draco's defense.

"But Molly has a point," said Arthur. "He's been particularly difficult these past few days."

Bill tried to explain, but once started, his mother ranted until she was finished, and Lupin and his father chimed in as well. The two weren't condemning Draco, but they didn't understand why the blond had been so distant and cool. It seemed that previous prejudices were coming into play as well. Bill turned to Dumbledore, hoping that the old wizard understood that there was a lot more going on with Draco than simple hatred of the holiday. Dumbledore met his gaze and twinkled.

"How bad was the singing?" the Headmaster asked, countering a complaint. Sirius laughed and Bill shot a glance at his mother.

"Maybe he didn't know any carols."

"It's not possible to get through Christmas without singing carols, or hearing them at a party," said Mrs. Weasley. "And even if he didn't, he's decidedly unapproachable and bitter. And when the kids invited him to go Christmas tree hunting, he nearly started a fight with Fred and George."

"Mum, Fred and George nearly started the fight," said Charlie.

"But it takes two sides to have a fight."

"And then, when we were hanging ornaments and Ginny asked him to help. Do you remember what he said?"

"Mum, I don't think he really meant it," said Charlie.

"He might have meant it," said Bill, "but he wasn't raised with such a to do about it all."

"What did he say?" asked Lupin.

"That it hardly seemed Christmas was worth such hassle," said Mrs. Weasley. "And earlier he said it was just an old tradition exploited for the business to make a profit."



"We've our own little Scrooge, wouldn't you say, Albus?" asked Sirius.

Bill shook his head. "That's unfair-," he started, but Dumbledore spoke over him.

"And by the end of the book, Ebenezer changed when the ghosts of Christmas showed him how to celebrate the holiday, and he eventually reflected the love that was directed towards him by others."

The Headmaster raised his eyebrows, effectively silencing the table. Bill nodded his thanks to Dumbledore and sat back in his chair. Maybe now things could start running smoother.

--

Hi, again, sorry I wasn't able to respond to reviews, but I will make a herculean effort to do so this week. Until Tuesday then!


	18. Cloaks and More Chaos

Disclaimer: Umm, not mine. Sad, innit?

Author's note: So, this is a bit late, sorry. I didn't get to really edit it, because I figured I should get it up when promised. I'll take a look over it sometime this week. And speaking of this week, I won't be updating as I'll be out of town for a bit. So, it'll be a two week wait until the first of July. Hope you enjoy the chapter.

--

Draco was enveloped in his work the next morning when Bill came in. He looked up, quirking an eyebrow at the new father.

"Hey," said Bill.

There was something in his tone of voice, a hesitance that made Draco narrow his gaze.

"What?" he asked.

"What what?" asked Bill. "Can't I just stop in to say hi? See how you're doing?"

"You had a tone," said Draco.

"Alright," said Bill, holding his hands up. "I have another reason for stopping in."

Draco waited, but now that Bill admitted he had an ulterior motive, he seemed loathed to elaborate. Bill took a breath.

"How are you?" he asked. "You seem a little…distant lately. You okay?"

"Yeah," said Draco. "Fine." He didn't mention that he was still smarting over the remarks he had overheard last night, and that because of those remarks, he felt an urge to be even more contrary. No one could ever say he hadn't been a difficult child, Bill didn't need to know that he had been listening.

"We might be going a little crazy with Christmas this year," said Bill, "but that's us just trying to keep some level of normality. It's been a rather hard year and this is our way of celebrating the fact that our family is still intact, or as intact as it can be with Percy away."

Now that Draco thought back, it had been a busy year for the red-haired family. Bill had been playing spy and nearly killed that past spring. Dumbledore had mentioned a few attacks during the summer. Ron had been kidnapped and a step away from death's door in the fall. Bill got married and Fleur nearly miscarried. Their daughter was dating a Malfoy…In a way, Draco could understand the need for an outlet of all that tension, so he nodded.

"What's normal for you?" asked Bill.



"What?" asked Draco, startled out of his thoughts.

"What do you normally do on Christmas? Is there any way we can make the holiday better for you?"

Draco shook his head. "You know I don't really celebrate the holiday."

"You said Lucius never really celebrated it. There must be something you usually do, some sort of tradition, anything at all."

Draco shrugged a shoulder. "I read," he said.

"You read," said Bill.

"Yeah. I take the day off and read a bit, that's it, so don't feel like you have to do anything special to make me feel comfortable."

"But you spend Christmas reading books, and here we are making a fuss and a half about it. How's that making you comfortable?"

Draco didn't answer. Bill let out a breath.

"Are you completely out of place here? Did I ask too much when I wanted you to stay?"

Draco heard the note of self-incrimination in Bill's voice. He also heard the regret and he knew that the red-haired man was wishing Draco had been born into a different family.

"Bill, it's fine. It's…you're all loud and busy and…just a lot to take in, but it's not…it's not bad, or horrible. If I was any other teenager, I'd no doubt be having the time of my life."

"But you're not just any other teenager," said Bill. "You're Draco Malfoy, genius extraordinaire."

Draco's lips quirked at that, but then the door opened and Hermione popped her head in.

"Hey, Dra-, oh, am I interrupting?"

"No," said Draco, because continuing the conversation would just mean Bill would continue to feel guilty and Draco didn't know how else to reassure him. He didn't know how to tell Bill it was alright because honestly he didn't know if it was.

"Oh good," Hermione said, "because Harry, Ron, and I are going Christmas shopping."

"Good for you?" Draco asked, not quite sure how this pertained to him.

"Come with us," said Hermione.

Draco shook his head. "Absolutely not."

"Oh, come on. When else are you going to go?"

"Later," said Draco.

"Christmas is six days away. Do you even have gifts yet?"

"Yes," said Draco.

"Do you still need some more?"

Draco wanted to lie, just so that she would stop hassling him, but he wasn't exactly sure on the whole etiquette of gift-giving. In high-society, everyone gave gifts to those in the house, related, friends or enemies, and the gifts were always expensive and rare. Now, however, he was living with those who were quite decidedly middle-class, and who were all part of an odd, but loving family. He didn't know who he was expected to get gifts for, how expensive those gifts should be, or how much thought he should put into them.

He hesitated, so Hermione naturally took his silence for confirmation of his attending the trip.

"Brilliant!" she said, happily. "Get your shoes; we're leaving in five."

She ran off and Draco turned to Bill. "See," he said. "Everything's fine. I'm even going Christmas shopping with the Golden Trio."

"Then why do you look like your being led to your execution?" asked Bill.

"Because I'm sure Hermione is acquainted with the saying 'Shop 'til You Drop'," said Draco. It was a saying that was found in both the Muggle and magical communities, because witch or not, all teenaged girls were the same.

Hermione did seem to be well aware of that saying. Upon arrival Harry and Ron had immediately suggested they split up, as Hermione and Harry needed to shop for each other, and the two Gryffindor boys had left Draco and Hermione quite eagerly. Well, Ron did at least, Harry only left when he was positive that Draco was going to look out for Hermione, and then he seemed quite relieved to kiss his girlfriend good-bye.

Draco soon realized that the two Gryffindors must have encouraged his presence for this very reason. Hermione had visited half of Diagon Alley in an hour's time and showed no signs of tiring. Draco was dragged along, boredom and tedium setting in far too quickly.

"So why are you staying with the Weasleys?" he asked while she perused a shelf in a popular bookstore. The question had been bothering him for a while and he was eager for any conversation. He then glared at the customers who never seemed to tire of walking by their aisle, 

heads craned to get a better look at the two of them. He didn't know who they were more excited about seeing, the girlfriend of Harry Potter or the deposed Malfoy.

"Partly for Harry, and partly because my parents already had to move twice because of threatening letters or such. They've been hooked up to the Muggle Protection Service, with wards and scheduled check-ins, but because I'm the main cause of the threats, it's not prudent to spend too much time at home. I'm safer with the Order and they're safer if I'm away."

"Makes sense," said Draco, and then was struck by the thought that his comment sounded rather callous. He was overly aware of his actions because of the overheard comments from the night before, so he spoke again. "Sounds rough."

"Yeah, it is," she said. "But the Weasleys are great and I've got Harry, so it's alright."

Draco made a face at her optimism and glared as another troupe of customers crawled by, staring at them and whispering together.

"Next time, we use an identity charm," he bit off to Hermione.

"I thought you enjoyed all of the attention," she said.

"There's a time and place," he said, leaning against the opposite bookshelf. He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, his left hand brushing his wand, clasping it lightly. He didn't like waiting here in the middle of an aisle with people peering in from both ends. It was exposed.

"Relax, Draco," said Hermione. "I can feel your paranoia."

"What are you even getting here?" he asked.

"Something for Ginny," said Hermione. She turned around. "What are you getting her?"

"Nothing yet."

"Nothing?"

"I've a few ideas."

"Such as?"

Draco shrugged. "I'd rather worry about everyone else first. Who, exactly, do you buy presents for in the Order?"

"Harry, Ron, Ginny, and usually something generic for the rest. Last year I got Mr. and Mrs. Weasley a small tea set, just for the two of them, and coffee mugs for the rest of the Weasley boys, nothing big." She gave him a measured look. "You want to go in with me?" she asked.



"In with you?"

"Well, Harry views them all like his real family, so they do the 'family gift-giving' which involves larger and more personal gifts, so I'm really the only one that isn't strictly related, but now you are too, so let's go in together."

Draco shrugged. "Any ideas?"

She grinned. "A few, yeah. Come on." She put the book back on the shelf and started out of the store. Draco dutifully followed, still sweeping the passerbys and gawkers with a cool gaze.

They ended up getting the rest of the Order little magical desktop kit; a tiny two person game of Quidditch for Charlie, with miniscule brooms in a glass ball; a tiny waterfall, with the water charmed to flow back up to the top, for Mr. Weasley, and so on.

Hermione then accompanied him to pick up presents to ship to Sam and Laney, and he followed her to get gifts for her own family.

"You didn't get me anything, did you?" he asked, helping her carrying items to the register.

"Yes."

"What did you get?"

"I'm not just going to tell you," said Hermione, scandalized at the thought.

He rolled his eyes. "Well, how am I going to know what to get you?"

"What would you get a friend normally?"

Draco cast a side-long look at her. "Do you want a pair of diamond earrings, Granger? Because I can get them for you."

She blinked at him. "You got just normal friends diamond earrings?"

"We were really more acquaintances."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know if I could live like you, Draco."

"It's an acquired taste," he said.

They left the store and then crossed the road, window shopping on the other side. Draco checked the reflection in the glass as often as he checked the merchandise. It was his 'paranoia' as Hermione put it, that alerted him to the presence of the elder and junior Notts approaching from the end of the street.



Draco turned, watching the two come closer, not spotting them yet, but still forcing their way through if people didn't step aside quick enough. He could tell by their expressions that now would not be a good time to meet.

"Granger, let's go," he said.

"What?"

"It's time to go." He pushed himself off the building and put a hand on her elbow, steering her away.

"Why?" she asked, taking a step to follow him because his voice was cool and set, but the crowd thinned and a harsh greeting was called out.

"Oi, Malfoy. You banging the Mudblood now?"

Draco turned to face the two, pushing Hermione gently to the side, angled behind him.

"Theodore and Theodore," he said. "What a pleasure to see you two gentlemen out and about. The house arrest was lifted then, and just in time for the holidays. How fortunate."

Theodore Nott Jr. was a tall boy, taller than Draco by a few inches, but nearly twice as heavy and while some of that was fat, most of it was muscle. Theodore Nott Sr. was even bigger. Still, Draco knew he could best them both in a duel, but that didn't mean he would do so effortlessly. Especially not in this setting when Draco would have to look out for Hermione and the rest of the shoppers.

"I hear that you were disowned, _Draco_."

Draco raised an eyebrow, waiting for the rest of the insult, but Theodore seemed to think that the mere emphasis on his first name was enough. He shrugged a shoulder.

"Lucius and I view the world differently. He sees profit in the complete overhaul of society while I think only a few minor adjustments are necessary."

"Minor adjustments? Like dating a Mudblood, you mean?"

"No, Miss Granger and I are not dating. I'm merely accompanying her to buy a few gifts."

He said nothing more, not inviting a fight, but not running from one either.

The elder Nott stared down at him.

"I always knew Lucius was too lenient with you, with you and his scarlet woman. If he had any sense, he would have stamped on your wandering ways while you were still young. If the spirit is rebellious, then it must be broken."

"You'll forgive me for not listen to your parenting advice. I see no reason to think your own advice in worthy of remembering," said Draco, his glance straying to the younger Nott and back to the father with a scornful curl of his lip.

"And to think that Lucius would dare compare your accomplishments to our own faithful children. He asserted us that you were far more intelligent, far more powerful. Now his words are proven to be lies."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I don't see why that would be true. So far I've defied the Dark Lord twice, have foiled his plans and bested all of you. Tell me the falsehood."

"An intelligent child would follow his father's path and would not have denied his lord."

Draco shook his head. "He is not my lord, nor will he ever be."

"Because now you serve that fool Dumbledore."

"I serve no one but myself. Tell me, Nott, do you think Slytherin would bow to another?"

"Slytherin bows to no-one, but he deserves for us to bow to him."

"Slytherin only ever respected Gryffindor for not bowing to him. Would you rather eat crumbs from your master's table, or sit at his right hand?"

"The Dark Lord is Slytherin, but more powerful, more dangerous, more committed to the Pureblood ideals."

"Your master is a Half-blood and Slytherin is turning in his grave."

"You blaspheme the Dark Lord!"

"Yes, I did. What is he really going to do about it?"

"He need not lift a finger. His loyal servants will strike you down."

And Nott went for his wand, Hermione grabbed Draco's arm, and Draco simply raised his eyebrows.

"And cast a curse in public, with all of these witnesses? You can do nothing, Nott, and any threat you may give is empty and vain."

Draco waited as Nott floundered, casting about for something to say, something to do that would assert the power of his lord, but nothing came. He smirked.

"Have a good day, Theodore and Theodore. Happy Christmas."

Draco deliberately turned his back on them, confidant they would not strike. Hermione glanced back as they walked away, still holding onto Draco's arm.

"What were you thinking?" she demanded, once they were sufficiently passed the two to be out of earshot.

"Pardon?"

"You were deliberately winding them up! They could have started cursing."

"Nott's been around too much to be that stupid, and Theodore wouldn't do a thing without his father's approval." Draco looked over at her, still smirking. "Tell me that wasn't fun."

"One of these days you're going to get hit. I just hope I'm around to see it," Hermione said. She looked ahead, ignoring him, but finally relented. "Alright, maybe it was a little bit fun."

"We'll make you a Slytherin yet, Granger."

"Not if you become a Gryffindor first."

They met up with Ron and Harry, and Draco immediately dumped the bags on Potter with a glare. Ron laughed; Harry grinned sheepishly and they Apparated back, just in time for a late lunch.

Dumbledore was at the table, obviously waiting for their arrival.

"Hello, Draco," said Dumbledore. "I thought we might discuss the cloak after lunch if you had some free time, since we didn't get to last night."

"Yeah, sure," said Draco, and he rushed through his meal, despite the Headmaster's protests that he take his time, and they retired to the study.

"I've been collecting information on the houses broken into so far," said Dumbledore, putting a parchment down on the desk Draco hastily cleared. "It's a very thorough search for the Headquarters, and while we are under the Fidelis charm, we won't be protected if they find the location of the Black's house on their own."

"And while the site changes, that doesn't mean they can't find it some other way," Draco finished.

"Exactly."

Draco scanned over the list. It wasn't particularly large, but it was apparent that much thought was being put into the sites located and infiltrated.



"Is this the complete list?"

"That we can tell. There are some homes so old that it's impossible to account for any break-ins, but we've done a thorough analysis of any magical residue."

"What ideas do you have to detect the cloak if is used to enter the Headquarters?"

As it turned out, Dumbledore had quite a few and Draco reviewed them, searching for the best solution. They were hindered by the fact that the exact make-up of the cloak was not known. The material had been kept on display, kept as an artifact and not thoroughly studied. There was also the problem of what to do with the Death Eater if they did manage to catch the spy. If the spy didn't return from his mission, it would be obvious where the Order was meeting.

Draco fell silent after it became apparent that many of their options were truly based on guesswork. There was a good chance that with both Draco and Dumbledore's agreement on the spells of the cloak that their countermeasures would work, but without one hundred percent certainty – Draco would put the real probability at seventy-five percent – it would be dangerous to stay where they were.

"I am sorry that I was not able to come yesterday," said Dumbledore, pulling Draco out of his thoughts.

Draco shrugged. "It's fine."

"No questions to my whereabouts?"

"If you're busy, you're busy."

"Or you already heard my excuse when I came last night," said Dumbledore.

Draco looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"How much did you hear?" asked the Headmaster.

"How would you know if I heard anything?"

"You seemed far too distant at lunch to merely be annoyed at the holiday. Eavesdroppers rarely do hear anything they would like to hear, but you should know, they are more worried and confused than they are annoyed by your attitude."

Draco scoffed at that, but then brushed away the words. "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters. Miscommunication can lead to isolation, and I think that it is time you had a real family for support."



Draco's eyes flashed, but he kept his voice cool. "I would ask you not to draw conclusions as you see them. In this matter your lack of knowledge betrays you."

Dumbledore held up placating hands. "I mean no offense, but I mean what I have said. You've made large steps in forging bonds, but Sam and Laney are far away. And while Bill is a wonderful mentor, and Ginny is a sweet girl, but both of them are high target profiles."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"What you already know. What are the odds of both of them surviving if full-scale war should break out now?"

"I'm not in the mood for speculation," said Draco.

"But you need to hear it," Dumbledore countered. "And even if they do survive, what then? Will you be dependent on two people alone?"

"I'm not dependent on anyone!"

"But you are dependent, emotionally so, and you aren't exactly well-adjusted or an easy soul to care for. Will you rely solely on them?"

"What's your point?" asked Draco. "Should I enroll in a pen-pal program? Should I enroll the entire Order in team-building activities for my own benefit?"

"No, but you could put less effort in distancing yourself from the rest of the family. It's hard to keep so aloof in a house full of Weasleys; harder than it is to simply participate and I think you know that. Let yourself get pulled in on the excitement every now and then. The rest will follow."

Draco glared and didn't answer. He picked up the schematics of the wards they were considering and scanned the page, not wanting to debate the Headmaster because the argument was distasteful, but he was unable to let the old man have the last word. He looked up.

"Next time, save the therapy session for when I ask for it."

"Take my advice and I shouldn't need to stage an intervention."

Dumbledore's voice was kind, but firm. Draco looked back to the page and tilted his head, his fingers finding a steady beat to tap out their pattern.

"You have another idea," said Dumbledore.

"It's a bit risky," said Draco. "But the results might be worth it."

"How so?" asked Dumbledore.

"Well, for one, this should take place relatively soon, meaning that we wouldn't have to worry about when the invasion would take place for the next few weeks. That would leave us free to spread goodwill and Christmas cheer for the holiday."

His tone might have been dripping with derision towards the end because Dumbledore looked at him with something akin to pity in his eyes.

"If ever there was a need for Christmas spirits," he said, shaking his head.

Draco gave an unrepentant smirk.

"Christmas," said Dumbledore, "has never been as important as it is now."

"Christmas is invading my work space," said Draco. "There's a war going on. Getting this done can save lives."

"But it won't save every life, Draco. Holidays are for us to gather happy memories that we can reflect upon when life takes a difficult turn, and it will get difficult, especially with our current struggles. If we don't take the time now to treasure our loved ones, when will we? There will always be threats and danger, but never enough time with one another. This break does not mean we are forgetting the war, we are just taking the time to rest and remember what it is we are fighting for."

"Yeah, fine," said Draco, brushing the speech away. "So are you interested or not?"

He thought, four hours later, that he must have miscalculated because he hadn't been expecting results until tomorrow. They had warned the rest of the family, but because he hadn't been expecting it, the family hadn't either. His only consolation was that Dumbledore agreed with his assessment, so while he was wrong, the Headmaster was wrong as well.

It was a bit after dinner, but they were all still in the dining room to make Christmas cookies. Draco wasn't going to stay, but Dumbledore had given him a pointed look and, whether he admitted it or not, Dumbledore did have a point with his clichéd speech in the study. Besides, it wasn't every day Draco found people willing to put up with him, and while he complained bitterly about the noise and chaos, it was a good feeling knowing that there were people who would look out for him.

So Draco helped roll out dough and then learned the proper spells for punching out tree or snowman shaped holes from Mrs. Weasley. After the cookies had baked, the shapes had the opportunity to be iced with different colored frostings or other various decorations. Draco had never iced or decorated a cake, much less a cookie, but it wasn't too difficult and, dare he say it, somewhat entertaining, mostly because of the antics of Fred and George.

"Always so correct, Draco," said Bill, watching how he mixed small amounts of frosting together to make a deep brown for the tree trunk. "You could just make it blue, you know."

Draco frowned. "Tree bark isn't blue."

"I know," said Bill, "but you could even make it a red tree with a yellow trunk if you wanted. Think of it like a coloring page when you were little."

Draco gave Bill a look; Bill shook his head.

"Don't tell me. You always used the correct colors. If I found your four year old pictures, there wouldn't be any color outside the lines and everything would be perfectly, and correctly, shaded."

"Naturally," said Draco, putting his normal green tree cookie on the platter with pink and purple trees and orange snowmen. A bit of green icing got onto his finger and he looked at it in consternation before scanning the table for a towel.

Bill sighed. "Just lick it off, Draco."

Lick it off? Draco hadn't licked his fingers since he was three. Still, it seemed to be the thing to do here, so Draco cautiously brought his finger to his mouth and licked away the frosting. It was startlingly sweet but creamy and smooth. Bill laughed at him and moved away to rescue Fleur from Lukas, who was liberally smeared with blue icing. Fleur had tried to direct his hands in decorating a cookie.

It was then that several loud, consecutive whistles blared and Draco jumped to his feet, wand out in an instant. Dumbledore whirled as well, shouting "Get down!" to the table.

The room filled with a light fog. While the Cloak of Merlin was undetectable when entering a fortress, if the person wearing the cloak was inadvertently sent to another location due to a Portkey, the activation of the Portkey could be set to an alarm.

Like he and Dumbledore expected, the cloak had invisibility charms set in it as well, nothing as good as Potter's of course, but nearly perfect. The light fog allowed them to make out the shape of the spy.

Spells were instantly cast, bright and sparkling and blasting the walls and tables. Draco came to several conclusions in those first nano-seconds. One, the Death Eaters had visited the old home of Andromeda Tonks, looking for the Order's whereabouts, much sooner than he had expected.

Two, there were far more of them then there should have been. He had been expecting two huddled under the Cloak of Merlin, but somehow the cloak had been duplicated. There were at least five empty spaces moving along in the fog.

Three, the disorienting Portkey that Dumbledore and Draco had set up to bring the unsuspecting Death Eaters to the actual Order headquarters was doing a wonderful job. The Portkey had been of a dark variety, which made for a bumpy ride, spewing the invisible spies out with no regard 

for their safety and the spells that the Death Eaters were casting were going wide and missing the Order members.

Four, the additional wards on the house were doing an excellent job in blocking the more dangerous curses. Dumbledore and Draco had set up a Dark Magic dampening field which severely inhibited the more harmful curses. The Order had been informed of the field and were only using the lighter spells, wingardium leviosa, stupefy, etc, so their own curses were not affected.

Five, there was one Death Eater who was oddly protected from the dampening field, and not only that, but the Death Eater noticed the fog and was countering it, sweeping the cloud aside, making it harder to find the Death Eaters.

Most of the Order had retreated behind a knocked over table, hiding Fleur, Lukas, and Mrs. Weasley from the attack. Bill, Mr. Weasley, and Charlie had formed a protective shield in front of the table while the rest battled the cloaked spies. In the first few moments, the Order was clearly winning, but then the leader, it must be the leader, began clearing the smoke away and casting dark curses, completely unimpeded by the field.

One curse struck Lupin, felling the werewolf, and the now harder-to-see targets were able to take the offense. Fred and George responded by forgoing their wands in favor of the frosting bowls. The cloaks were impervious to the tracking charms and revealing spells, but they were unable to hide splatters of confectionary sugar, butter, milk, and food coloring. The icing stuck to their robes and funny blue, green, red, and yellow spots floated in the air before being toppled by stupefies.

Draco dispatched one more and then looked to where Dumbledore was battling the leader, marked by a blue stain on what must be the right arm of the cloak. Dumbledore was more than holding his own, even against the dark curses, but then a splotch of green got off a lucky shot, hitting the overturned table and splintering the wood. Fleur screamed and the blue-stained leader furthered the assault by lashing out with a fire-starting curse, specifically dark and hard to counter. The back of the room flared up.

Dumbledore glanced over, locked eyes with Draco, and the two flash-stepped in unison, Dumbledore appearing by the table, countering the dark curse with a plethora of lighter charms. Draco had been unaware of such counters, as he was versed mostly in the darker spells, and he appeared where Dumbledore had been moments before, ready to duel the Death Eater.

Draco tuned out the sounds around him, ignoring the instant pang of panic for his godson and ignoring the desire to search for Ginny. Last he had seen she was battling with the Golden Trio, and he trusted Harry to keep an eye out for her. He blocked the onslaught of curses from the spy leader, and then caught the Death Eater off guard by lunging forward.

He crashed into the Death Eater and they both hurled backwards, into the hall, Draco landing hard on the Death Eater. He was shoved away, but grabbed the cloak and rolled, looking over to see none other than Claire Jameson revealed.

"Surprise," she said, grinning with cruel intent. The spell she called down next would have ground most of his bones into fine powder, but he rolled just in time and called up the strongest shield he could muster. Her next curse hit the shield, but at the moment of impact, he thrust outwards, bouncing the spell off and back at her.

Claire jumped back into the living room and Draco ran after her. He had the disadvantage, unable to use any dark spells to block and respond to hers. Still, he forced her back with a quick combination, trying to get her against the wall.

Claire was a formidable opponent though, highly intelligent in her own right, and she threw a few offensive curses while defending herself, dark curses calling on fire. Without thinking, he automatically threw up a Fendlers ward, the best defense against such spells, but the ward had its roots in dark magic, and the dampening field on the house restricted the ward.

The spell hit the weakened ward and while he was protected from the main effects – he didn't burst into flame – the force tossed him backwards. He was flung into the back wall and slid to the floor. He scrambled to his feet, managing to block her next two curses and sending out his own, but the impact had dazed him. Her next curse slipped through and there was a deafening pop in both of his ears. He was on the floor before he even registered the pain, but then it was there, fire, shooting through his ears and brain and the slightest movement caused the world to twist and roll.

He knew what spell it was; he'd used it many times before. It blew out the eardrums and canals of the victim, causing a loss of balance, extreme pain, and a searing tinnitus. Right now the note being shrieked in his ears was a high B flat.

His wand was lying a few feet away, but he couldn't even lift his head to find Claire. The room was spinning as the fluid in his inner ears finally settled, but so much as breathing was enough to send the fluid sloshing through the torn canals.

Claire stalked forward, her shoes hitting the ground and creating vibrations that caused the room to jump before his eyes.

"Well, this is familiar," she said. "You, at my mercy. Very clever, by the way, sending us right to you. I don't suppose you want to tell me where we are, do you?"

"Not particularly," Draco managed, watching her step forward until she was right beside him, the sparkling Christmas tree behind her an odd foil to her deadly expression.

"So sad," she said, and leveled her wand at him.

Draco jerked forward, closing his eyes against the crazed movements of the room, forcing his limbs to ignore the wild bucking of the ground. His hand closed in on his wand. He didn't have to see her to cast the spell that brought down the ceiling to its original height, toppling the tree. The infragilis charm was a split second after thought.

He knew he was headed for the wall, and so his outstretched hand hit it first. He sagged gratefully against it before turning around and risking a look. The room was heaving this way and that, but he could make out the gold blob underneath the pine tree. He slid to the floor, wand pointed as the blonde head started to stir.

"Don't even think about it," he said.

She didn't, but she did Portkey away, and then people were running into the room.

"Draco!"

He could just make out the word, garbled and low, and his ears burned with pain. Bill came into view, face panicked. Draco knew his ears were bleeding and that it probably looked a whole lot worse than it was.

"I'm fine," he said, wincing at the volume of his own voice and hoping he hadn't yelled it.

Dumbledore knelt beside him as well, his wand out. Draco tried to pitch his voice at an acceptable level to explain the curse, but Dumbledore already recognized the damage.

He saw the Headmaster's lips move as the proper healing charms were implied and then there was a tickling scratch in both his ears as the ruptures were mended.

"-should stay still," Dumbledore was saying. "You won't be fully healed until tomorrow."

It really didn't matter. Draco didn't feel up to moving.

"Claire had a Portkey," he reported.

"As did the other Death Eaters," said Dumbledore. "It appears the Death Eaters were able to reproduce, at least roughly, the cloak of Merlin. I'll be able to ward against these specific charms so we won't have any more uninvited visitors."

The Headmaster moved off and Draco looked to Bill.

"Everyone else?" he asked.

"Lupin's a bit knocked up and Charlie got singed, but he's used to it. Come on, let's get you someplace more comfortable."

Draco allowed Bill to haul him up and Dumbledore did a good job fixing his ears because there was only a slight residual dizziness. Bill helped him over to the couch while Mrs. Weasley called the others to help pick up the Christmas tree.

"Hey, this one made it," said Fred, picking up a porcelain angel from the ground.

"This one too," said George, holding up a glass snowman.

"Everything appears to be intact," said Mr. Weasley.

Ginny looked over at Draco with a smile. He shrugged, but then the entire family looked over at him and he flushed.

"You're unbelievable," said Bill. "An unbreakable charm while you battled a Death Eater?"

Draco shrugged again. "It seemed like it would be a good idea."

Bill shook his head and laughed, Fred and George joining in. Mrs. Weasley stepped over and Draco tensed, but she simply bent and kissed his cheek.

"That was very thoughtful of you," she said. "How are you feeling?"

Despite Draco's assurances that he was fine, he found himself with a soothing cup of tea and a warm blanket minutes later. The tree was quickly set to rights and Ginny took the seat next to him on the couch.

"So, how does it feel to save Christmas?" she asked.

--

Bill and Fleur tucked Lukas into bed after all of the excitement and then helped set the dining room to rights before joining the rest of the family in the living room. Bill immediately looked to Draco, seeing the blond sitting with Ginny on the back couch. Draco seemed to be fine, but he was also holding very still.

Bill sat with Fleur on the loveseat and then his mother switched on the radio for some light Christmas music. The tension gradually dissipated from the room, helped along by the quiet laugher from Fred and George, who were sitting in front of the fireplace and turning the flames different colors.

Hermione came in with a few mugs of tea, peppermint from the smell, and the scent gradually filled the room, mixing with the dark scent of pine from the tree. Fleur sighed beside him and snuggled against his shoulder. Bill settled in as well, wrapping his arm around her.

Fred and George started a silenced game of Exploding Snap and Bill watched for a while before motion out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Ginny was helping Draco lie down, the blonde's expression tight. Bill wondered if he should get him some pain reliever, but Draco's expression eased as Ginny began running fingers through his hair.



A short Christmas story came on the radio, a holiday classic about love potion in the eggnog. His family laughed quietly at the appropriate parts, Harry and Hermione laughing harder as the jokes were new to them.

Bill glanced over at Draco, wondering if he had heard the story before, but Draco seemed to be having trouble paying attention. His eyes were fluttering shut before springing back open. Bill didn't doubt that Draco had never voluntarily fallen asleep in a roomful of others before.

Fleur was drifting off beside him, and Ron was stretched out on the floor, eyes closed. At the end of the story, Hermione and Harry moved to the long couch on the side wall, Hermione curling up and resting her head on Harry's shoulder.

Still, Draco fought sleep, running a hand over his face.

Fleur nestled further into Bill and he breathed in the scent of her hair, gently stroking her shoulder and letting out a sigh of contentment. His mother picked up a pair of knitting needles and the steady click-click furthered the sleepy hypnosis.

Bill watched Draco shift, turning onto his stomach and blinking rapidly at the others in the room, trying to stay alert.

'It's okay,' Bill wanted to tell him. 'Just close your eyes; it's alright.'

Of course saying that would just cause Draco to snap wide awake and pull his guard up even more, so instead he tried broadcasting soothing thoughts towards the blond. Telepathy was a myth; but Legilimancy and aura readings weren't.

Ginny still stroked Draco's hair and Bill watched Draco sleepily raise his hand and gently hold onto Ginny's knee, as if trying to keep her there. Ginny reached down with her other hand, taking his and lacing their fingers together. Bill watched the grey eyes slide shut after a few valiant efforts to stay open with satisfaction.

He settled back and closed his own.

--

Again, I won't be updating next week as I'm out of town for a bit on vacation (yay!). Please leave a review as I'd love to hear what you think of all the Christmas stuff in the wrong season, lol!


	19. Unexpected Christmas Gifts

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I think I might use the money to take over the world. Why? Because, really, what else would you do with all that money?

Author's Note: Apologies for the weight. Vacation was a bit longer than I thought (grin!). Also, it's a bit hard writing Christmas fluff in July. Luckily, we're moving on to some real plot next chapter. Huzzah!

--oOoOoOo--oOoOoOo--oOoOoOo--oOoOoOo--oOoOoOo--oOoOoOo--oOoOoOo--

In hindsight, Draco should have figured that setting up a Portkey to transfer Death Eaters who were searching for the Order headquarters right into the real Order while said Death Eaters were wearing the cloak of Merlin should call for more preparation. However, once everything had settled down, the benefits of such a risky maneuver really made it worthwhile. Besides, how was he to know that the Death Eaters would have had the insight to duplicate the cloak of Merlin?

Still, there was minimal damage to the Order and to the members, and the next day, after his ears had finally healed, he and Dumbledore were able to pick apart the cloak and set up wards that would defend against any attempts at entry. Even without the wards, it would be another feat of the Death Eaters to actually find the Headquarters, but just to be on the safe side, Draco sent out a few false rumors, leading unsuspecting Death Eaters into a dragon's den and other unpleasant areas.

There was an unexpected plus to the events of that ill-timed Portkey, that being the fact that Draco had saved the Christmas tree after toppling it onto Claire. Suddenly he couldn't be teased about being a 'Scrooge' and when he did hide in his study when the Christmas Spirit was on the rampage, he was no longer looked upon with disapproval or pity.

On Christmas Eve, Draco went down to find that his study door was locked and there was a note posted reading: _Businesses are closed today and that means your research too. Go back to bed. Bill_

Dumbledore must have locked the door, because nothing Draco did could get his study open. He was forced to spend the day with the rest of the family, playing games and drinking hot chocolate and, in all honesty, it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

They all went to bed late and, for the first time, Draco was woken up by the others, or rather Fred and George.

It was barely six o'clock when his door was unlocked. The soft click was enough to rouse him, and he rolled onto his back, brushing the hair out of his face, and then two figures were leaping onto his bed and jumping up and down. He had to pull his feet back so they weren't trampled and he stared blearily up at two identical faces.

"The hell?" he demanded.

"Wake up, Malfoy!" they sang.

"I am awake."

"Then come on. We can't go downstairs until everyone is awake."

And then Draco found himself being pulled out of bed and into the hall. One of his t-shirts was thrust into his face, which he was grateful for, having only slept in loose, grey drawstring track pants. He pulled it on and then let Fred and George hustle him down to the second floor. The twins immediately dove into the next room and Draco leaned wearily against the wall and ran his hand over his face. He stretched, feeling his spine pop slightly, and then leaned back again, completely awake. Harry stumbled out of his room next, hair even more askew, if that was even possible, and rubbing his eyes. Fred stopped in front of Harry and slid his glasses on the boy hero's face.

"There you go." He patted Harry on the head and went to join his brother waking the rest of the family.

Harry sagged against the wall next to Draco and yawned violently.

"Is this normal?" Draco had to ask.

"Unfortunately."

It took half an hour to get the rest of the house up, and Draco watched in envy as Bill and Charlie walked right downstairs, apparently not bound by the rules that held the teens in the upstairs hall.

Sirius came down from the third floor, showered and dressed, and Draco let his head drop back on the wall, completely jealous. Sirius went downstairs as well and Draco could smell coffee being made in the kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were still getting ready, and it was obvious from the impatient, resigned expressions, that this was completely normal. His lips quirked in relief when Bill ascended the stairs, holding a cup of coffee out to Draco.

"Happy Christmas," he said.

"Back at you," said Draco, accepting the mug.

He had finished the coffee by the time that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley finally emerged and walked down to make sure that everything was ready. By now Fred and George were hopping with excitement, Ron was trying to lean over the banister without taking a foot off the hallway, and Harry was grinning stupidly. Ginny came over to Draco, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Happy Christmas," she said, and leaned up for a kiss.

Draco was more than happy to oblige, but because of her brothers standing nearby, he kept it quick. Fred and George were still glaring when he pulled back.

Draco shrugged. "It's Christmas."

Harry burst into laughter and Fred leaned over the stairwell.

"Mum, hurry up! Malfoy's snogging Ginny!"

"Don't listen to him," Ginny called down. "I'm snogging him!"

There was a muted roar of laughter and an admonishing 'Sirius, please!' from Mrs. Weasley.

Harry laughed again and then pulled Hermione in for a kiss, deliberately aggravating the twins.

"And now Harry's snogging Hermione. Dad, please tell us we can come down," George complained.

"Very well," sighed Mrs. Weasley, and the rest of her sentence 'as it's apparent we can't leave you all unsupervised, you may come down' was drown out by thundering feet on the stairs.

Draco followed at a more sedate pace, Hermione just in front of him, also refraining from throwing herself down the steps. He followed her into the living room which had been transformed into a nauseating display of Christmas decorations.

Before he had thought the room was passable in a 'rustic holiday' sort of décor, with the browns of the sofas and lounges, the cream carpet, and the Christmas tree and lights around the room. Now it was a green carpet with red couches. The walls were still wood, but hung with garlands and wreaths that were transfigured from a single pine needs and would only last a day. The tree was covered in tinsel, gold paper stars hung from the ceiling, and Mr. Weasley flicked his wand, and fake, soft cotton snow began falling.

"Mon Dieu," Draco muttered in revulsion. Luckily no one heard him, and he made sure that he simply looked unimpressed as opposed to disgusted.

There were even green and red striped, poka-dotted, plaid, starred or mottled stockings in front of the fireplace with names written in sparkling gold script. The stockings were stuffed with small packages and Mr. Weasley began to take them down.

"Fred, George," he said. The twins got the plaid ones, Harry the polka-dotted one. Hermione's was striped, Ron's was mottled, and Ginny's had stars. The last one was a relief, simply green.

Mr. Weasley handed it to Draco. "We thought the plain green for you."

Draco was surprised at the stocking, his eyebrows rising, but Mr. Weasley gave him a small smile.

"Part of the family now," he reminded him.

"Yeah," said Draco.

"So the green, was it a good pick?"

Draco nodded quickly. "Yes." The answer came out a little more definite than he would have liked.

Mr. Weasley laughed. "You'll get used to all this soon enough," he said, gesturing about the room. Draco sincerely hoped not, as he prided himself in a good fashion sense, but then Mr. Weasley gently pushed him in the direction of the dining room to join everyone else.

Most of the presents in the stockings were the same thing for everyone. Crazy colored socks, quills with odd feathers, and brightly colored bottles of ink, which were actually useful when one was in the translating field.

After the teens unwrapped their stockings, it was the adults turn. Their stockings were hung along the wall and while they opened presents, Hermione and Ginny took over cooking for Mrs. Weasley. Draco was conscripted into making more coffee and tea.

Before breakfast could be served, the table had to be cleared of all gifts and wrapping paper, so the small piles were made throughout the room and then Fred and George tried to burn up all the paper with a quick flash spell. It left the room smelling of smoke, but Mrs. Weasley expertly cast a refreshing charm. Draco figured she had to be proficient at such cleaning spells with six boys.

Breakfast was large, and loud, and actually entertaining. The non-Weasleys were treated to a recounting of the past Christmas capers which left Sirius in tears, Harry gasping for breath and Hermione in giggle fits. Draco even quirked a smile, which Fred and George caught and pointed at and exclaimed 'it's a Christmas miracle!'

After the meal, they all went back into the living room, where it was still snowing and the cotton had drifted into small piles.

"Sirius," said Mrs. Weasley, "since you insisted on the snow, you will be cleaning it all come tomorrow."

Sirius shrugged, packed a handful of the cotton (which was charmed to pack quite well), and lobbed it at Fred. It hit George instead and Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat loudly at the younger twin and so prevented a snowball fight.

Everyone unwrapped their first gift together. It came in red paper with a white bow, identical for all. Even Lukas had a little package.

It was, of course, the Weasley jumper. Draco distinctly remembered mocking Ron for the shirt on several occasions. His own was a deep navy blue with a light grey D on the front. He watched as every pulled their jumpers on and followed suit, finding that it fit perfectly. The yarn was soft and made the jumper quite comfortable.

"Hermione helped with the knitting this year," said Mrs. Weasley. "There were quite a few to make this year." She nodded at Fleur. "Hermione picked out the lilac for that one."

Fleur smiled. "I love it."

"I like it too," said Bill, kissing her cheek.

"Oi!" called Fred.

"Had quite enough of that already," said George.

"Draco," said Mrs. Weasley, "stand up, let's see yours."

Draco had much rather not stand up, but Ginny gave him a nudge, so he got to his feet.

Mrs. Weasley nodded satisfactorily. "I knew that blue would be good on you. And that grey matches your beautiful eyes."

No one had complimented his eyes before. They were identical to Lucius' and that was a connection that was impossible to look over, or so he thought. He sat back down, flushing.

"Brings out the pink too," said Fred, and George laughed loudly.

Draco picked up a handful of snow and threw it. He had perfect aim and it hit the red-head right in the mouth. Fred spat out cotton balls while George laughed even harder.

The gifts were distributed at a random order, and ranged from gag-gifts to expensive ones. Fred and George got everyone, even the girls, funny boxers. Harry's read 'I'm a Seeker; wanna ride my broom?' while Draco got Gryffindor ones and Ginny got Slytherin colors. Hermione threw hers back at the twins with a shriek of indignation. They read 'Harry Potter? Yeah, I'd do him'.

Ginny smothered a laugh and buried her face in Draco's shoulder so Hermione wouldn't see her smiling. Mrs. Weasley started lecturing, but Mr. Weasley pressed a small box in her hand. She opened it to reveal a simple, but shining diamond on a delicate gold chain. She gasped, blinked back a few tears, and threw her arms around her husband.

One Christmas, when Draco was nine, Lucius presented Narcissa with a diamond necklace. The chain was made of thin, twisted strands of gleaming white gold, interspersed with tiny princess cut sapphires. The pendant was sapphire was well, large and the deepest blue Draco had ever seen. It was heart shaped and fringed with tiny white diamonds that glistened in the light. The necklace was accompanied by sapphire and diamond drop earrings.

She had put them on and preened at Lucius' praise. She allowed him to kiss her cheek.

That evening she and Lucius had attended a gala at the Opera House. After the performance, and during the dancing, Narcissa snuck away with first violinist from the orchestra pit. Lucius found them in a private box, Narcissa's back on the seat of an armchair, her legs in the air, the violinist over her. The man just had his dark socks and tie on. Narcissa was wearing nothing but the diamond necklace and matching earrings.

Lucius left, but others had seen the affair while sneaking off to dally themselves in the balcony. It had been a huge scandal, only hushed by obscene amounts of money.

That was the last time they had a family celebration. Lucius started paying for Narcissa to spend her holidays in Paris or Venice, to keep her affairs discreet while he attended political celebrations and business parties. Draco stayed home and read by the fireplace.

A touch on his arm drew him back to the present and he looked over to see Ginny staring at him.

"You alright?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, forcing the memories back and affecting an untroubled expression.

"You were zoned out for a bit," she said.

Draco looked to the tree and realized that most of the presents were gone and that Bill was giving him a worried glance. He gave a tight turn of the lips.

"Just thinking," he said.

"Here's another," George called, interrupting anything else she might say. The younger twin picked up a small, gold wrapped box.

He tossed it to Fred who read the tag.

"To the Weasley family," said Fred. "That's me then."

George snatched the box. "And me."

"Yeah, but I'm older."

"And that makes you more of a Weasley?"

"Right."

"Boys," said Mrs. Weasley from her spot on the sofa. She didn't seem to troubled with their bickering though; she was still holding Mr. Weasley's hand.

The twins ripped the paper together and pulled out a wooden box with a coat of arms carved on the top. The lid was removed and they blinked down at the contents in confusion.

"Someone wants to marry you then?" asked George.

Mr. Weasley caught a glimpse and he sat forward.

"Fred, give that here, please."

His voice was quiet, but intent. Fred handed the box over and Mr. Weasley pulled out a ruby signet ring, the seal as large as his thumb and in the shape of a larkspur flower. Conversation died out.

"What is it?" asked Ron.

"It's our signet ring," said Mr. Weasley in shock. "Hundreds of years ago, your ancestors were lords of a small village. The feudal system gave way to a more democratic government, and no more titles were held, but the ring and the coat of arms were still kept in a treasury. The fortune was lost when Grindelwald reigned and so was the ring. I thought it had been destroyed."

He turned the ring over in his hands and then passed it to Mrs. Weasley.

"Who sent it?" asked Mr. Weasley to Fred.

"The tag didn't say."

"Florean Fortescue, actually," said Draco, speaking up. Everyone turned to him. "I saw it in the vault when I was looking for the Horcrux. He was happy to see it returned to the family."

"So you stole it," said Hermione.

"Reacquired it," said Draco. "It's a signet ring. Only the blood family can lay true claim to it." He shrugged. "Thought you might want it back."

"Thank you," said Mr. Weasley, catching his gaze and nodding. Draco nodded back. The Weasley's passed the ring around the circle, inspecting the bit of their history before Mr. Weasley put it back in the box.

There was a slight pause before Bill spoke.

"What do you say we give Draco his present now?"

Draco frowned. He already had several, and while they were gifts leaning more towards the fun side, he hadn't really been expecting anything. The rest of the room, however, exchanged grins.

Bill got up, smiling widely. "Come on," he said.

Bewildered, Draco got up to follow with everyone else. They were still smiling at each other and at him, obviously knowing the surprise. Bill stopped at his study door.

"So, locking your study up actually served another purpose," Bill admitted. "This was my idea, but I had a lot of help, so this is from all of us to you."

Bill opened the door, which must have been charmed for his entry only, and then he stepped aside. The door was only open a crack, and Draco couldn't see what was inside.

"Go ahead," said Bill.

Draco reached out and pushed the door. It swung easily to reveal an upright piano, and old, antique piano, one that he knew. The cherry wood was polished to gleam, and the ivory and black keys were spotless. A matching cherry wood bench stood in front, cushioned with a cover of blue velvet. It was an Aldwin Bach piano. He stared, frozen, and then turned around. His shock was clearly written on his face and there were a few giggles and so many smiles.

"When?" he finally asked.

"The day after you saw it in the shop," said Bill. "I said that you deserved it, and I know that you wanted it, so if you weren't going to indulge yourself, I would just have to do it for you. I started putting down payments on, but there was a bit of trouble when the original bench was recovered. Luckily, it was after you moved in, and people were voicing their concerns over what to get the resident genius, so I told them about the piano, and everyone chipped in to pay it off."

Draco looked to the piano and then back. "You didn't have to."

"We know," said Bill. "We wanted to."

Draco saw the smiles, and the high-fives. He saw that Bill meant it and saw the words echoed in the family's eyes.

"Merci," he said, completely overwhelmed.

"Play something," said Sirius.

"Now?" asked Draco.

"No, when we're fifty-two," called out Fred and George.

Draco rolled his eyes, but then the girls began insisting, so he crossed over to the piano and sat.

He hadn't decided what to play until his fingers touched the ivory. It was the light jazz piece he had been working on, an original melody, but then he was reminded of all the Christmas carols he had been exposed to of late, so he improvised, throwing in Pachabel's Canon, the quick run and the descent. He had forgotten how nice it was to sit and simply play whatever came to mind.

He let the last chord fade and sat back, not turning around because there were cheers and catcalls, and his face was flushed again. He schooled his expression and turned.

"Might want to write that down before you forget it," said Bill.

"You wrote that?" asked Hermione.

Draco shrugged. "Sort of made it up as I went along."

The family was staring again, and he ducked his head, feeling the flush rise up again. He was almost thankful when Fred and George caused a distraction, but then he realized what the distraction was.

"What's this?" Fred asked, picking up a package wrapped in ivory paper. It had been sitting behind the books on his shelf.

"What does the tag say?" asked George.

Draco froze, not knowing if he actually wanted to give Ginny the present. He had already given her a gold chain bracelet with tiny rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and amethysts dangling about the circumference. It was very Bohemian looking, and while the stones were real, they were tiny, cutting down the cost of the jewelry. Hermione had advised against anything ridiculously lavish. She said that expensive was good, but not to go too far as Ginny was getting him a gift as well. It wouldn't do to make her feel out-gifted.

He liked Ginny's present to him. It was a compiling notebook, one that he could take to the library or a study or anywhere else and when he wrote in it, his words would be transcribed in any other notebook of his choice. Or, reversely, he could write a word on the page, and his notes on that subject would appear on the paper in front of him. There was even a section in the back that could be used to peruse famous library encyclopedias by simply writing the item of interest.

It was useful, but she had personalized the notebook as well. The cover was green suede, with a Black Merlin falcon pressed into the cover, his Animagi form. On the inside cover was a collage of pictures, like students did to their own books and journals in Hogwarts. Draco had always liked the look of them, a mural of memories to claim the book, but had never decorated his own books. For one, it was completely unMalfoyish. Secondly, he wasn't going to put any sort of time into emotional trinkets that were merely a whim. Finally, he didn't have any happy pictures.

Ginny had somehow gotten her hands on the picture of Lukas and Draco at the park (most likely from a collection that Sam had) and that was on the top right. There was a picture of Blaise and Pansy, grinning and waving right beside it. Below them was a collection of tiny snapshots of Hogwarts, the castle itself, the library, the Great Hall. Snape was glowering out of one (how on earth had Ginny managed that?) and Bill was in a larger picture in front of a chalkboard, beaming proudly in his professor's robes.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron were smiling in a picture by the lake, and Fleur was holding up baby Lukas in another.

He was slightly disappointed that there wasn't a picture of Ginny, but then he had flipped to the back cover and stared. Someone had taken a picture of the night after the Claire and cloak fiasco when Draco's ears were still healing.

He remembered that night, trying to fight the desire to fall asleep, paranoia battling with exhaustion. He had finally drifted off next to Ginny, and there the picture was, stretched out on the back cover, himself asleep and Ginny smiling down at him, carding one hand through his hair while the other held his hand.

"It's the only picture I had of us together," she had said when he stared at it. "You can put another in once we get one."

Draco didn't think he would exchange it though. She looked lovely.

It was a wonderful gift, thoughtful and useful. So he let Fred and George look at the package.

"It's to you, Gin," said George, handing the heavy, square package over. "From your boy."

Draco saw her raised eyebrows directed at him; he shrugged.

She neatly undid the wrapping, not obsessively so, but freeing the object gently. Two tickets to the Symphony of Magical London were freed first, and she looked them over.

"New Years Eve," she told the onlookers. "Box seats at the Symphony for a new piece from the composer of the Magician's Symphony."

Bill glanced over at Draco with a smile.

"Gives you a week to find something to wear," said Hermione.

Ginny grinned and pulled out the object that made up the bulk of the package. It was the original score of a new movement, a blank line where the title would be.

"It gives you a week to come up with a good name," said Draco.

She looked up at him, surprise in her eyes.

"I would have just dedicated it to you, but it might give away the composer," Draco explained.

"You wrote it?" she asked. "You're a composer?"

"It's a hobby; fills the spare time."

"You're a published composer to fill your spare time?" asked Harry.

"Genius," Draco reminded them.

"That's not genius," said Fred.

"That's a disease," said George.

"You could have taken up gnome-watching."

"Or pixie racing."

"Card gambling."

"Magical sailing."

"Stargazing."

"Golf."

"Golf?" asked Fred.

"I like golf," said George. "It's relaxing."

"I have a high intrinsic motivation," said Draco, excusing the accomplishment. "It comes with the inherited desire to rule the world."

"Never rule the world," advised Fred.

"Killer on the nerves," said George.

Draco let the corner of his mouth quirk. "I'll try to remember that."

--oOoOoOo--oOoOoOo--oOoOoOo--oOoOoOo--

If Draco didn't give the best presents, then Snape was natural blond.

Ginny lightly fingered her bracelet from Donnabella Jewels. It was from a new line, but without being in-your-face chic. It was flirty and fun and she loved it. She eyed the score of music sitting beside her. She needed to think of a good name and the pressure was a bit daunting. That didn't mean she didn't approve of the gift, but she didn't think being the girlfriend of a genius came with so many responsibilities.

Some could argue that Draco himself was a responsibility. Emotionally withdrawn, untrusting of the world, morally conflicted at times...yeah, the argument was strong but Ginny had nothing but faith in her boyfriend. He had already come so far, and that was without any sort of outside help or encouragement. Imagine what he could do with a little support.

And he would get that support from her and the rest of the Order. He was already endearing himself to the family and he didn't even know it. He returned their signet ring, gave her a symphony to title.

Bill's gift was amazing as well. Draco had talked to a few publishers in the Ancient Runes sector and had drawn up the contract for a book on the Persian Runes. Bill was getting an advance so that he could concentrate solely on finishing the runes, and one of the best writers in the business was going to help put Bill's work in writing.

Bill had laughed and grinned and pulled Draco in for a hug, and the blond Slytherin had patted Bill's shoulder in return.

"I'm giving you all the credit," Bill had said.

"You just pointed me in the right direction," Draco responded. "It's yours."

Bill had protested and Draco finally caved to taking half the credit but he swore if Bill dedicated the book to him, he was buying all of the copies and burning them.

Ginny smiled at the memory and then shifted in the cotton ball snow. They were all in the living room again, and while the snow had stopped falling, it was three inches deep. Still, it made the floor quite comfortable. She was sitting against the wall, playing with the Rubrik's cube that Sirius had given Draco as a joke.

The colors had been completely jumbled and the rest of the family had all tried their hand at the Muggle toy before giving up. Ron had actually got seven blue squares on one side before giving up. He had tossed it to Draco afterwards.

Draco had turned the square over in his hands and then set to twisting the cube in a flurry. In a little over twenty seconds, the cube had been set to order. Now she was trying to figure out how he had done it, but she had never been very good at geometrics.

After presents, they had taken shifts showering and then came back down to play with new toys. Lunch was just sandwiches as dinner would be big. Her mum had started baking on Christmas Eve.

Fred, George, Ron, and Harry were involved with an intense game of Extreme Exploding Snap. Hermione was half-reading a new book, sitting next to Harry and kibitzing. Ginny was content to watch.

Draco was immersed in a book, sitting by the fireplace and leaning back against an armchair. Originally he had been on the chair making small talk, or rather Hermione and he were talking and Fred and George were teasing the blond, still on about his composing hobby. Draco gave better than he got, but then things got rowdy as the game started. Draco got that cool expression on his face. He got that look whenever things were chaotic or loud. As a single child, Ginny didn't think he was used to the crowd.

Bill came in holding Lukas and immediately saw Draco's discomfort. He walked over and sat across from Draco and because he had the baby, the players were forced to keep it down and the pestering stopped. Bill and Draco talked for a bit, but then Draco picked up his new book and started to read. Sometime later he had migrated to the floor and pulled his knees up, like a child. He read fast, eyes darting across the lines of text and pages turning before Ginny would have had three paragraphs read.

Her dad came into the room with a platter of biscuits, a carafe of hot chocolate, and a pot of tea. He set it down on the small end table, and Ginny got up, pouring a mug of hot chocolate for herself. She glanced at Draco and poured a cup of tea as well.

She crossed over to Draco and held it out. It took a minute for him to register her presence and then he looked up.

"Thanks," he said.

She sat behind him, legs dangling over the side of the chair because he was leaning against the front.

"What's the book?" she asked.

"How the pH Scale Balanced the Wolfsbane Potion and Other Integrations of Muggle Chemistry in Modern Magical Potions," he said.

"Oh right. I read that one last week. Found it dry in the middle but over all quite innovative," she said blithely.

He tilted his head back to look at her, his lips quirking in what she knew was his version of a laugh. She grinned back.

"I have no idea what even the title means."

"It's quite good," said Draco.

"I'll take your word on it."

He continued with the book and Ginny carded her fingers through his hair. It was going to be a bad habit, she knew. His hair was fine and impossibly soft, but still thick.

She didn't just pet his hair for enjoyment though. As an emotionally withdrawn teen, that meant in a physical sense as well, and while he was a damn fine kisser, sometimes she didn't feel that he really meant it, sometimes he seemed to think it was expected and kissed her with incredible skill but without any real emotion. She was trying to get him more comfortable with touch, and rubbing his head and neck was the best way to get him to relax.

Dinner was to be at seven, so at five-thirty Mrs. Weasley had them put all of their presents away and clean-up as they were having a few guests. A few guests meant Dumbledore and Kingsley and maybe Snape, if Dumbledore managed, by some spectacular feat, to convince him to come. Ginny was sure the process would involve guilt-tripping, blackmail, fourteen logical reasons, and maybe the imperio, and that didn't even guarantee success. Hagrid was invited as well, but hadn't sent an RSVP. That didn't necessarily mean he wasn't coming.

Charlie, surprisingly enough, had invited Pansy and Pansy had invited Blaise. Traveling overseas to his parents in Italy would involve a lot of security clearance by the Aurors and, terrible as it sounded, it might not really be worth the effort. It didn't help that they were an older, Pureblood family and Blaise was in Slytherin.

It took Ginny two trips to get her presents up the stairs, and that was just because she hadn't bothered to stack anything and she couldn't use magic just yet. The third trip was because she had already misplaced a few items and had to go back down.

She only noticed the box on her bedside table when she had put her gifts away and walked over to flick on the lamp for additional light.

It was a small, rectangular box, wrapped in silver paper that sparkled when the lamp light hit it. It was decorated with white ribbons that crisscrossed and tied in a cluster of curls right in the middle. There was a tag looped around the ribbon that simply said: To Ginevra

That, right there, should have warned her not to open the box as precious few people called her Ginevra, and none of them were bound to leave secret gifts, or if they did, the gifts weren't likely to be harmless, but in her curiosity she pushed concern aside and unwrapped the gift.

The ribbons slid gracefully off when she tugged them, and the paper didn't tear but unfolded at the seams. The box was long and thin, with smoothly rounded edges. It was made of jade, a rich, deep green and in the center was an engraving, a blossom of some kind, and a curving border.

Just the box looked to cost a fortune, and it was polished to reflect better than a mirror. She took the lid off to see a piece of ivory parchment, thick parchment with a sheen. Her name, Ginevra again, was written so perfectly, so beautifully, with subtle flourishes and grace, that she thought it must be a stamp, but on closer inspection, it had been handwritten.

She picked up the parchment, intending to read the letter first, but then she saw what was underneath and she stared.

It was a necklace, and it was breathtaking. It wasn't anything outlandishly jeweled or sparkling, but it was elegantly simple, sheer lines, but really too pretty to be called sleek.

The chain was obviously new, a modern white-gold, fine link chain, thin and flexible. The pendant was a diamond, but not a clear, white diamond. It was pink. Not bright pink or a light red, but a soft, clear, even pink that seemed to radiate the color. Ginny had never seen such a shade before and couldn't begin to fathom how rare it was.

The diamond must be old as well, because it was a rose cut with beautifully pointed sides. She hadn't seen a rose-cut except in antiques. It was a good size, not medallion large, but large marble size, if a shooting marble was flat on one side and carefully faceted on the other. It was beautiful, stunning, and Ginny wanted nothing more that to reach out and touch it, but while she was curious, she wasn't completely stupid.

Instead she unfolded the parchment. The message was short and written in the same calligraphy.

_Best wishes for the holidays,  
L. Malfoy_

_p.s. It would be in your best interest to wear the necklace._

Ginny hastily set the parchment and box down, half afraid of a Portkey even though she hadn't triggered anything yet. She stared for a moment and then turned for the door but stopped herself.

She couldn't tell her family; they'd make her burn the letter and toss the necklace somewhere in the gutter. She couldn't tell Hermione because, well, the girl would tell and the Order would destroy it with revealing spells and counter curses, and really, it was too beautiful to ruined.

She would never tell Draco. What would she say? What would he think? It would stir up so many arguments that were best left for a time when such memories weren't so painful or vivid. The afterlife might be a bit too soon.

Her mother's voice carried up the stairs.

"Professor Dumbledore is here! Don't take too long."

Dumbledore would know what to do. Ginny closed the box and shoved it and the letter in the back of her nightstand drawer, trying to touch them for as little time as possible. Then she changed into the new green, v-necked shirt Hermione had given her. It was the first cashmere item she owned and she loved the feel of it.

She adjusted her make-up, meaning that she put some on, and then cast a few spells to keep the curls in her hair. She practiced a smile, banishing all thoughts about the necklace from her head.

Dinner proved to be very pleasant, and she did very nearly forget all about the necklace. It was easy with Blaise talking avidly at the table, sharing Slytherin's dirtiest secrets without any sense of censor, and with Pansy making innuendos as only a self-titled 'scarlet woman' could. She was sitting so close to Charlie, they often bumped elbows, and Ginny was sure that Pansy's leg was hooked over Charlie's under the table.

Her parents didn't understand the pairing, but Ginny did. Pansy was flighty and bored of the attention she received, so she had to keep getting more and more to make up for it. Charlie was steady, calm. He had to be in his profession. Charlie was also used to strip-clubs as he had been a wild teenager and he knew how to deal with Pansy. He ignored her. He showed her he cared by not pushing her away or condemning her, and then he promptly ignored her lewd behavior and provocative comments.

Pansy needed that, someone showing they weren't impressed by her behavior no matter how gorgeous she was. She was smart and knew when she was being inappropriate, it just had never helped her not to be promiscuous. Ginny was sure that if the girl kept hanging around Charlie, she would gradually curb her wilder antics.

Charlie, on the other hand, could use a girl like Pansy, who could keep him on his toes. Sometimes he got complacent, and after working with dragons, he could be a bit unconcerned, a trifle apathetic after a long day. Pansy was all passion and energy.

Ginny wondered what Draco thought of it and turned, but Draco was talking with Snape, or rather, debating. Something about a potion they were working on.

"This is no time for work conversation," Mrs. Weasley interrupted. "It's Christmas. Relax, have fun."

Draco and Snape cast her the same look and Ginny giggled. She poured herself another glass of pumpkin juice while everyone took seconds. Everyone except Draco of course.

Draco seemed to have an odd aversion to eating, especially when someone took notice of the fact that he rarely cleared his plate or skipped a meal. And it wasn't even that Draco needed to diet. If anything, he would look better with another half-stone because Ginny had usually gone for the muscular, solid look. Draco was slender and bordering skinny.

Today had been a good day though. No one had commented on his meals, and so he hadn't forced the bites down. His plate was mostly clear, and it had been full to start with. Ginny wondered if she could get him to eat two desserts.

They took a break before dessert for the sake of their too-cull stomachs. Tea and coffee were made and games pulled out. A few gifts were shown off, and Mrs. Weasley dragged Draco to his study to play for Dumbledore and Kingsley. Ginny hadn't been entirely sure how much of the piece he had improvised this morning, until she heard him play it again, and incorporate an entirely new carol into the song, this time 'Carol of the Bells'.

Dumbledore and Kingsley were significant impressed and Snape clapped once or twice, lurking in the hall. Ginny caught Dumbledore's eyes as the others proceeded into the living room for a chess tournament, and teams were already being decided.

Dumbledore hung back, letting the others pass. "Is there something the matter, Ginny?"

"I need your advice," she said.

"Of course m'dear," said Dumbledore, and followed her up the stairs.

She brought out the box and letter and placed them on her bed.

"As you know, when Draco went to see his father, I followed and I had dinner with Lucius Malfoy. We even danced together, but that was just so he could tell me to keep Draco away from him. I found these on my nightstand this afternoon."

Dumbledore picked up the parchment. She watched as he frowned slightly as he read the words. He put the letter back down and then opened the box. His eyebrows rose.

"This is a most exquisite gift," he said. "The pendant looks to be early Victorian era, and that color is quite rare."

"I love it," said Ginny. "I just don't want to find out it's cursed with a perpetually bad hair hex or anything." Making light of a potentially dangerous situation was a trick she learned from Fred and George. It really did help.

Dumbledore smiled. "Have you touched it yet?"

"No," said Ginny.

"Good."

"Is it a Portkey?"

"No, but there are some very old spells on this necklace."

The Headmaster waved his wand, layering a few different charms over the necklace, and color spikes rose above the box, obviously a reading of some sort. Ginny had no idea what it meant.

"Very old," said Dumbledore, "but there are some new additions as well. Curious this arrangement."

He seemed to be talking to himself, but that didn't stop Ginny from interrupting.

"What's curious?"

"There are quite a few protection wards on this necklace, old ones, ancient ones. Some are of the darker variety."

"Protection spells?" asked Ginny in surprise.

"Seems you made quite the impression on Lucius," said Dumbledore. "What did he say to you?"

"Nothing, really," said Ginny. "It was mostly between him and Draco, and then the dance…it seemed like he was warning me to keep Draco away from him so he wouldn't have to do anything else, but there were other words that sounded like he wanted to hurt Draco."

"The relationship was never a stable one, that much was apparent," said Dumbledore. "And thank Merlin it wasn't, however cruel that sounds."

"But protection spells," said Ginny. "Is it safe to wear then?"

"There are several locating charms on the pendant as well," said the Headmaster. "Those are the new additions."

"Locating charms?"

"Ancient spells newly cast, mostly blood based ones so while Lucius could track you, I doubt Voldemort could."

"So I could wear the necklace and have Lucius find me and murder me for some reason I don't know, or I could not wear it and get captured by Tom and only the necklace could have saved me."

"Those are the two worst-case scenarios, yes," said Dumbledore.

"What should I do?" asked Ginny.

"I'm afraid that's completely up to you. How do you think Lucius reacted to your presence? Do you think he really wishes to harm Draco, or maybe he was forced to?"

"It's not like he would answer if I asked. I couldn't even tell if he was lying."

"He is a mysterious man."

Ginny sighed. "Well, it's not like I could wear it anyway. I would get asked about it."

"I doubt that very much," said Dumbledore. "Another spell on the necklace is a perception filtering one. The only people who could see it, when it is worn, are those who know that it is there."

That didn't help her at all.

"I'm sorry I cannot tell you anything more definite, Ginny. But I have no doubt you will make the right decision."

"Thank you," said Ginny.

The Headmaster left the room. Ginny reached out to touch the necklace. It really was gorgeous.

--oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO--

Yay! Christmas is over. On to plot!! Really though, this fluff is somewhat necessary. I need Draco emotionally developed to a certain point until I continue on, and I think he's just graduate 'Feelings 101'. He didn't receive top marks, but he's always been content with E's, so he'll be happy. Sorry I haven't responded to reviews, but this is late and I'm tired. See you Tuesday (or Wednesday, if I do need the week).

p.s. The piano is, of course, the one mentioned in the one-shot Coffee Break and Music Hour, a scene that didn't get into my last story that kinda needed to be there for this...


	20. New Revelations

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's note: Sorry I'm a bit late. I was called into work the other day, and then my friend scored tickets to Dark Knight, so I choose Batman over all of you. I'm sure you understand, lol!

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"All clear," called Kingsley, turning to Draco and Bill.

The two joined him in the guest room, Draco's eyes sweeping over the layout and possible escape routes before turning to the wardrobe he knew housed the safe. The trick was getting the wardrobe to open up into the safe and not to a collection of dress robes. Draco was sure there were a few more less pleasant options should he fail. A banshee perhaps, or a host of dormant spells, waiting for a thief.

Kingsley moved to the hall to check on the progress of the Aurors he was with. The raid came two days after Christmas and had caught the Jordayne family off-guard. Draco and Bill had entered with the Aurors as private consultants, and, because Dumbledore was concerned that he might be a bit reckless, he'd sent Bill in for backup. Bill, as a curse-breaker in Egypt, was the closest thing the Order had to an Erus Feles.

Draco reached out carefully and touched the wardrobe. When there was no defense triggered, he ran his hands up the sides and across the doors. There was a faint tingle and the wood was cool to the touch.

"Got it?" asked Bill.

Draco smirked, stepped back, and cast a curse. The doors flew open, banging against the walls and bouncing back with the force. A simple flick of the wand had them still and then slide back open, leading into a small room.

Kingsley came over and peered inside. "That's it?"

"This is the atrium," said Draco. He stepped into the wardrobe and studied the four wooden walls that had expanded and then turned his attention to the back where there was the outline of a door and a large gold knocker.

"What now?" asked Bill.

"It's a Wendese design," said Draco. "They haven't made one of these since the fifteenth century."

"You sound oddly delighted at that," said Kingsley.

"It's a little exciting," Draco admitted. "It's the first Wendese I've come across."

Kingsley shook his head, and then his name was shouted from the hall. "Send a signal if you get in trouble," he said, and went to oversee his men.

"Will you be able to get it open?" asked Bill.

"Is Dumbledore mad?" asked Draco absently, studying the gold, snarling bear face that made up the door knocker.

There was a bout of silence after that question and Draco half-turned.

"Yes, most definitely," he summed up, and then began casting several charms at the wall.

"Albus Dumbledore is one of the greatest men I know," said Bill, not condemning Draco's words, but simply stating his opinion.

"And genius is another form of insanity," said Draco, explaining his comment which he hadn't meant as an insult.

"Would you call yourself mad?" asked Bill, a curious note to his voice.

"Undoubtedly."

"That's a bit pessimistic, don't you think?"

Draco grimaced, but continued casting the spells, one after the other in quick succession. "Yeah, but it has its moments."

"Such as?"

"In twenty years, I will remember this conversation word for word. I will remember what you were wearing and how you were standing. I will remember your inflections and my own thoughts at the time. Perfectly. Sometimes, it's overwhelming."

"I doubt even Dumbledore can do that."

"Probably not, but he's better at people than I am."

"Better at people?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't have a lot of influence over people. I can only get them angry to achieve my results, and because of that, I'm limited in what I can get them to do. Dumbledore can make people love him. That's real power."

"Dumbledore loves us right back," said Bill. "That kind of power goes both ways."

"A pity, isn't it?" asked Draco. "Think of what he could do if it was only one direction."

"Would that really be love? The Death Eaters don't love Voldemort because he doesn't love them. They fear him, and revere him, but I wouldn't call that love. Mindless devotion and obsession, maybe."

"So you can't love someone unless they love you back?"

"I think there has to be some level of caring on the other's part. If they had no affection whatsoever, they would never spend time with you, and you can't be in love with someone you don't know. A crush, sure, but that's more in the obsession line."

Draco let his lips quirk. "You're quite the romantic."

"And you're always the cynic."

"You'll have to forgive me. The holiday put me in a bad mood. Too much goodwill."

Bill laughed. The door knocker suddenly morphed into motion, a growl sounding from the mouth as the face turned from Draco to Bill, the gold eyes looking quite feral.

"What did you do?" asked Bill quietly.

Draco performed a complex pattern with his wand and then stepped back to close the wardrobe doors behind them, cutting them off from the rest of the house.

"The safe is actually spell-protected and the guardian of the safe, the bear, wakes when the right spell is used, but really, they're quite easy to fool. Each spell has its own level of magic. All I had to do was cast enough harmless charms to increase the magic in the room to trigger the guardian. Simple, really."

"Draco, casting spells quick enough to have the magic in the atmosphere build up means that you were casting at least three charms a second."

"Well, I did lose a spell now and then, if you were watching," said Draco.

Bill shook his head in disbelief. "So, the bear's awake, what now?"

"I just masked out magical signatures, so hopefully the guardian should mistake us as the Jordayne family and, with the doors closed, should take us right to the safe, like a lift."

"_Should_ take us?" asked Bill.

"Well, it's been a while with the doors closed, so I'm starting to think I should have used a non-dark spell to mask us, and I'm hoping that whatever safety precautions are installed in this thing aren't the kind that cause instant death, because then, well, we'd be dead instantly and I wouldn't have the chance to get us out of here."

"What kind of instant death?"

"A wall of spikes hurtling towards us, a flame spell, a freezing spell, or the poisonous vapors of a Chici pixie. Any other gas and I should be able to vent the room, as long as my mental facilities remain intact for three seconds after the release of the substance. Gorbi vapor causes hallucinations first, followed by the melting of flesh and bone, so I wouldn't be able to do a thing about that."

"Uh-huh," said Bill, sounding sorry he had asked.

"It should be fine," said Draco. "We've at least a thirty percent chance of getting out of here alive."

"Thirty percent?" yelped Bill, but then the door swung open to reveal a room full of gold and bejeweled trinkets. Bill turned to Draco with a frown. "You were joking, weren't you?"

"You make a very good joke, Bill," said Draco seriously.

Bill made a grab at him, but Draco ducked and ran out of the wardrobe, a soft smirk pulling up his lips.

"I don't believe that nonsense of the holidays making you cranky," said Bill. "You're having a blast."

In truth, Draco was having a good time now that Christmas and Boxing Day had passed. He was finally working on his projects again, which meant an immersion in books and text and his mind was on overdrive trying to fit everything in. Because of that, come meal times when he was forced to take a break, he actually needed the respite, and found the company of the others to be strangely comforting and not trying and obnoxious. Before his move to the Order, when he worked without break alone in the Malfoy Manor, there was a profound sense of isolation and the quiet was dismal and cold at times.

Draco took a quick pass through the room, looking over the objects accumulated. He wasn't looking for anything in particular, but it was good to know the inventory of one's opponents. The safe was extremely dusty, as if it hadn't been viewed in a while. It wasn't uncommon for safes to be unopened for a century or more. Bill looked about as well, not overwhelmed by the stockpile (he'd opened pyramids after all), but simply surprised.

After the trip about the safe, Draco turned to the doors and started layering reveal spells on the entryway, looking for the marks of any other break in. There were the light cracks, which were simply the times when the family came to add to the pile or retrieve an item, and there were darker cracks when thieves had arrived.

"Well?" asked Bill.

Draco shook his head. "Not this safe. The last break in was forty years ago. The Jordayne re-did the wards on the house around then, probably because they were getting thieves, and the wards are good ones."

"How many houses do we have left to search?" asked Bill.

"Nine possible, but because I don't see any evidence that it was ever in this safe, because there were no break ins, I think I can actually eliminate three off the list, and the next probably is the Brines. I think finding it there is a safe bet."

"Sounds good," said Bill.

They walked back to the doors and stepped through the wardrobe. Draco wasn't surprised to see Kingsley waiting for him, but he was surprised at the look on the man's face. Kingsley's jaw was set, his eyes troubled.

"What?" asked Draco immediately.

"I have to take you back, now," said Kingsley.

"What's happened?" asked Bill.

"Minister Fudge has been assassinated."

Draco blinked in shock. He knew that Fudge was slowly beginning to take a stand against the Death Eaters, but he hadn't been that great of a threat, had he?

He was still puzzling it through when they stepped through the Floo and into the Order's Headquarters once more. It was obvious the family already knew, as they were all gathered in the living room, listening to the radio for any news.

"Dumbledore just told us," said Ginny. "They haven't said anything on the radio though."

"I think just the officials were told," said Bill. "Give it another five minutes, and they'll inform the press."

It took four minutes for the radio host to come on, the cultured voice trembling a bit as he began.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your scheduled programming, but we've just received word from the Ministry of Magic. Minister Fudge was found dead in his office not twenty minutes ago and foul play is expected. Aurors have already launched an investigation. I repeat, Minister Fudge has been assassinated."

Draco left the room, not needing to hear any more from the radio. He felt that the dust and the dirt from the safe was clinging to him, so he walked upstairs and took a shower. He let the hot water pour over him as he tried to work out what had happened, and how it had happened with all of the security around the minister. There were too many variables he didn't know.

He finished the shower and then quickly dressed, his distraction leading him to pick out his more expensive clothes out of habit, a pair of fitted, black pinstripe trousers and a blue cable knit jumper, knit out of young griffin wool. The cloth was softer than Veela hair and it was perfectly fitted, clinging to his shoulders and trim waist. He ran a comb through his hair before going back downstairs.

The group had moved into the dining room, the radio sitting on the table. Mrs. Weasley was pouring tea, and the family was whispering theories as the same information was being played over the radio.

"Nothing new?" Draco asked, sliding in next to Ginny. His hands were on the table and she entwined her fingers through the one closest to her. He ran his thumb down the back of her hand.

"It's been confirmed it was an assassination," she said. "Nothing else."

"Who would have done it, though?" asked Harry.

"Besides the obvious?" asked Fred.

"But Fudge wasn't proposing anything that would be a threat to Voldemort, was he?" asked Hermione. She looked over to Draco, who gave a shrug.

"I have a feeling we don't know everything yet," he said.

Mrs. Weasley handed him a cup of tea and he nodded his thanks. Conversation died out as the radio host came back on, but again, nothing had changed.

"What's taking them so long?" asked Ron.

"The scene has to be catalogued," said Draco. "Photos taken, and all that. Then the Healers have to confirm the death. My guess is, something happened that has thrown them all for a loop, something dark, probably. They'll have to call in experts."

"Like who?" asked Hermione.

"The Prevention of Dark Arts Society, the Compilation of Ancient Knowledge Association, the Dark Arts Identification team, and a few others depending on how stumped they are. And because most of them are funded by the government, several independent specialists will be summoned as well in case of a conspiracy."

"Do you think there was one?" asked Harry.

Draco shrugged. "I don't have enough information."

The Floo flared to life, and everyone turned to see Kingsley step through. He was still wearing his red Auror robes and his face was grim. He turned to Draco.

"Mr. Malfoy, the Ministry of Magic asks that you provide the Auror force with a consultation concerning the death of Minister Fudge."

"Who the hell in the Ministry would ask for my opinion?" asked Draco.

"I am not at liberty to say. The members of the cabinet each contributed a name in full confidentiality. I am to escort you there if you accept this duty to your country."

"Of course," said Draco.

"I can wait while you collect anything you may need."

Draco shook his head. "I've my wand. That's all I'll need."

He squeezed Ginny's hand before getting up, but she didn't let go. She pulled him down to kiss his cheek.

"Be careful," she said.

"The murderer's long gone by now," said Draco. "I'll be perfectly fine."

He was half right.

He arrived at the Ministry which was nearly deserted, save the Auror guards posted at every conceivable entry way. Kingsley led him through the atrium and then they took the lift that was specifically set aside for the Minister's, or an emergency's, use.

Draco was led to the outer office of the Minister where several men and women had already gathered. He recognized them all as the head experts of dark magic organizations, and they all recognized him and stared in shock.

Dumbledore was the last of their group to assemble, and he raised his eyebrows at Draco, but still managed a small twinkle.

"Quite surprised to see you here," he said. "I didn't know your skills were known to the cabinet."

"I'm quite surprised myself," said Draco, and then Kingsley was stepping in front of the group.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for answering your country's call. As you know, the Minister was assassinated earlier today, and as you might have guessed, the means of his death is a mystery. We have called you in, as the leading experts in Dark Magic, to aid us in the discovery of the murderer. In a moment, I will take you in to the office. The Minister's body is still there, 

for you to examine, but I ask that no spell or instruments be used until you clear it with myself or the other Aurors as preservation of the scene is of the utmost importance until the assassin is apprehended. Are there any questions?"

There were none. Kingsley nodded and opened the door.

The wizards and witches hesitantly shuffled in, Draco lingering back until all of the rest had entered before stepping in himself. The office was large with portraits in gilded frames hung along the walls. There were windows to the left and to the right and facing the door was a large polished oak desk. On the floor behind the desk was a limp hand. The Minister must have been at his desk when the attack came.

The other experts made straight for the body, whispering and exclaiming and recoiling once they saw the corpse. Draco circled the office instead, eyes sweeping over every object.

"He's been stabbed," said one expert, rising from the body. "There must have been someone hiding in the room."

"If it was a simple matter of a hidden assailant, they wouldn't have called us in," countered an older man.

"You are correct," said Kingsley, nodding to the second. "The Minister returned from a conference and came into the room. His guards swept the room, as customary, and then waited outside. Half an hour later, the guards entered and found his body. As you can see, there are several instruments in the room to detect any unwelcome presence, and none were triggered."

Draco had already noticed the dark magic detectors and knew that additional wards on the room would not let anyone enter without specific permission.

The experts left the body and began searching the rooms, some of them pulling out their own detectors and pointing them about the room. Draco crossed over to the desk and stepped behind it.

The Minister was lying on his side, but his torso was twisted so that the small, jeweled hilt in the middle of his back was almost purposefully displayed. Draco knelt, and studied the hilt. It was silver and smooth and studded with sapphires so blue they were nearly black. There was a large diamond pommel on the end. It was too small to be a knife. It was a letter opener.

It was hard to think. The experts were talking amongst themselves, throwing out theories, or quizzing Kingsley, or shooting down the other suggested possibilities. It was too chaotic.

Dumbledore joined him behind the desk.

"Any thoughts?" asked the Headmaster.

"He was standing when he was killed," said Draco. "The chair has a back, so it would be impossible to stab him through the leather." He stood up and regarded the position of the body. "He was turned to the left when he was killed, and the stroke was instantly lethal. He didn't hit the desk when he fell, so maybe he was getting up to leave, or returning to his desk. He never saw his murderer."

"So I concluded as well," said Dumbledore. "Now the only questions that remain are how and who."

"I would be interested in the why as well," said Draco. "I've seen this letter-opener before." He looked at the Minister's corpse once more before turning to the window, wondering if this was the last view Cornelius Fudge had seen before his death.

"What about an Inferi?" one of the experts called out.

Draco rolled his eyes. They must really be desperate for an answer if they were considering a reanimated corpse. He swept the room again with his eyes, looking for anything that could lead to an answer.

The assassin must have been in the room to begin with, that was certain, but how were the detectors evaded?

"What about the knife in the Minister's back?" a woman asked Kingsley.

"It is a letter-opener," said Kingsley. "It was an anonymous gift that the Minister received a few weeks ago."

Of course it was anonymous. If Lucius had planned the Minister's assassination with that knife, he wouldn't have signed his name to the card.

"Could it have been cursed?" the woman asked.

"All gifts are screened before they are given to the Minister, and it passed through every screening."

"Did the portraits see anything?" one of the experts called out.

"No," said Kingsley. "That was the first thing we asked."

Of course the portraits hadn't seen anything. That would be the first obstacle the assassin would need to overcome, but how? Could the portraits have been mind-wiped? Was that even possible?

Draco looked over the portraits but then he stopped at the portrait of Edward Donahue, the Minister from 1901-1908. The man was posed behind the Minister's desk, a few objects on the table, a parchment, a quill and ink bottle, his nameplate and a small, golden globe, and there, to the side, was a silver and sapphire letter opener. The blade was stained red and had formed a small puddle on the desk.

Draco stared at the small knife and then back up to Donahue. The man's eyes were slightly manic and his hands were trembling.

He turned from the portrait and walked over to Kingsley.

"Have you ever heard the ghost story about the haunted portrait?" he asked. "There was an enchanted portrait in a study, and at night the portrait would crawl out of the frame and murder whoever was in the room."

"You can't be serious," said a dark magic expert, looking up from his detector. "That's a child's horror story."

"Did you know that in the fifteenth century, a portrait was burned after it was accused of killing a housekeeper?" asked Draco.

"That was because there were no other suspects and there was a superstition regarding the man in the portrait."

"The man in the portrait had been accused of murder himself, even though no one had been able to prove it. Edward Donahue, Minister in the early nineteen hundreds, once killed a man in self-defense."

"Edward Donahue has been dead for over fifty years," said another man, and now all of the experts were listening in. "You can't accuse him of the murder, and you can't honestly expect us to believe that his portrait left its frame to kill the Minister. It's impossible."

"Then why does Donahue have the murder weapon in his picture and why is it covered in blood?"

His question was met with silence and then Kingsley strode over to the portrait and the rest followed.

"Sweet Merlin," one whispered.

"The others wouldn't have been able to see him," said Draco. "Portraits have trouble seeing magic, because it's inanimate, and Donahue would have needed a magical form to escape from his painting. The clue to the assassin is in the letter-opener. Donahue would have only been able to manipulate a solid object that was also in the painting."

Once the other experts were dismissed, it took Draco and Dumbledore half an hour to determine the actual spells used on the portrait. With each passing minute, Draco became more and more certain that the letter-opener Donahue had stabbed in the back of Minister Fudge was one that Lucius owned but never used. He said nothing though. He wouldn't be able to prove it.

Dumbledore noticed that something was bothering him, though he did not comment on it. As soon as they had a rudimentary idea of the spells, Draco excused himself, somewhat abruptly, and left.

He took the stairs to the atrium, needing to move to clear his thoughts. His father had been the one to plot the assassination of Minister Fudge. He didn't know why or what would be gained with the death. He didn't know if he should tell anyone, didn't know if he wanted to accuse his father. He didn't even know why he had been brought here.

He reached the atrium without reaching any answers, and it frustrated him. He strode over to the fireplaces, intent on leaving, when a voice called out. Draco turned, seeing a red-haired young man waiting in a side hall.

Draco suddenly noticed that the Auror guards were suspiciously absent, and he reached for his wand before stepping into the hallway. The young man looked to be five years older than he, dressed in standard business robes and with his neat appearance and brown glasses, quite unremarkable if he had been standing in a crowd. He was not in a crowd, however, and there was something about his posture, confident and poised, that made Draco pause.

"Percy Weasley," said the young man, holding out a hand.

Draco shook it. "Draco Malfoy."

"I suppose you might be wondering why you were on the list of dark magic experts," said Percy. "I switched your name out with another; hope it wasn't too much of an inconvenience."

"Not at all," said Draco, his brow furrowing.

"I'm Assistant to the Minister," said Percy. "I heard that you were quite good with dark magic and on the Order, so I thought you would be a good addition to the team. I may have switched your name out with another that a cabinet member suggested."

"Dumbledore was on the list," said Draco.

Percy pushed his glasses up and leaned against the wall. "I'm afraid I don't agree with the Headmaster of Hogwarts. He was always more comfortable with using his relationship with others to get the results he wanted, to get them to fight for his cause. Some might say he was manipulative."

"I believe I've said the same thing on occasion," said Draco. "I'm also in the Order. What makes you think I'm any better?"

"Oh, you're probably even worse," said Percy, "but you don't have my family following your every whim and I think you can keep a secret. You see, the Order isn't the only resistance group out there. We've one right here in the ministry, commanded with doing everything possible to search out and stop Voldemort from rising to power while answering to the laws of England. Vigilante groups are simply not what this country needs at this time, but I'm afraid I'm the only one in my family who sees it that way."

"There's a Ministry group now," said Draco, absorbing that information. "You're a part of it."

"Civis Arma," said Percy. "The People's Defense. I'm assistant to the head of that as well. I do assisting well. Anyway, the point of this diatribe is to say that Fudge had just been informed of our group and had approved additional funding."

"If the Minister isn't aware of your presence, how are you answerable to the laws of England?"

"The People's Defense was started in the fourteenth century. The Head of the Cabinet, who is elected by popular vote, is given the authority to call it into action. All records are kept in a vault and any one of the group can reveal them to the public if they feel the power is being abused. It's not a perfect system, but we have rules."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to know that we're here, and if you ever get any information that might help us, feel free to contact me. My Floo is private, but if you want to get in touch, it's 'Lucubratio' to get through. I have a gut-feeling that vigilante is your style because they were the ones to first accept you. The government shouldn't be abandoned in times of war and a lot can be done through the official channels."

"A lot can be done," Draco agreed. "The portrait, Edward Donahue was magically animated and given form. There was a letter-opener in Donahue's picture and the actual one was given to Fudge because Donahue would be able to wield it. You'd probably have found out on your own, but now you don't have to sneak around."

"Appreciate it," said Percy.

Draco nodded and turned. He took a few steps before stopping and looking back.

"I should have figured you'd be part of some resistance group. It makes no sense that a Weasley would back down from a fight."

Percy gave a rueful sort of smile. "I've just a different set of morals."

"You could at least pretend to agree with them. If you joined the Order, you'd know what was going on."

"Do you really know what's going on? Albus Dumbledore is a man of secrets and he's working to his own end. It's a happy end, to be sure, but sometimes the means to the end is overlooked."

"You're more idealist then the rest of your family," said Draco.

"No," said Percy. "I'm just smart enough to see past my feelings. I've always been a bit too Slytherin for them, no offense."

"None taken," said Draco.

"Well, thanks for the information. I've got to be along, the guards will be back soon."

"Before you go," said Draco, "you should know something the Order doesn't. That letter-opener? It belonged once to Lucius Malfoy."

Percy blinked. "Your father."

"Disowned," said Draco.

"Sorry. And thanks, but…if you weren't going to tell the Order, why are you telling me?"

"Because you won't be able to prove it," said Draco. "And because a minister's death should be handled by the Ministry, not a group of civilians. Besides, you might have a leak in your Defense."

"Because it's unlikely that Fudge's death, right after he started funding us, is a coincidence. Believe me, we know," said Percy. "Also, how sure are you that we won't find anything on Lucius? I don't want to waste time on a man we won't be able to convict."

"That's another reason I told you," said Draco. "And let me put it this way, unless the Inner Circle comes forward with evidence, there's no way you could pin that on Lucius."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Lucius was a child, he had been taken to a market in Paris. His governess was sure to steer him away from the areas holding dark objects and dark wizards, but Lucius had caught glimpses of the strange beings and mystical objects and had been fascinated. He escaped his governess and wandered the twisted alleys hemmed by colorful tents and terrible creatures.

He had not been afraid, though only ten at that time. He had been surprised when the old hag had shrieked and grabbed him but he stared right back into those pale eyes.

"Not afraid, are you, my little Light One?" she had rasped in a high, crackling voice.

"Should I be?" he had asked.

"Even if I said yes, you would not feel fear. Come into my tent, and I will tell you your future."

The tent was dark and thick with the musk of incense. It stung his eyes and his shoulders ached where her sharp nails had clenched. He said not a word.

The crystal ball on her table was large and perfectly clear, but as soon as he approached it, fog had arisen inside, obscuring his vision.

"You are from a powerful family," said the hag, "and that power will grow under you. Your name will be revered and hated, awed and despised. You have the choice to choose one or the other, and you would succeed in your endeavors, but in doing so, you would lose that power."

Lucius stepped closer, wondering what she saw. The fog changed and a shape appeared. She gasped, flinching backwards.

"Allies you will make; allies that would see the world burn. The Dark One will come; you will follow his example but not in his footsteps. With your light, you could save or destroy him, though you will see neither."

"What Dark One?" asked Lucius.

The hag stepped towards him, grabbing his hands and turning them over.

"You are untouched by Fate," she said. "She cannot take you. When you die, it shall be a manner of your choosing."

The crystal ball burst with fire from the inside, a great, glowing light. The hag shied away, her arm thrown over her face. Lucius stared and stepped closer.

"What does that mean?"

The hag met his eyes. "Salvation is in the sun." She threw a cloth over the ball, but the light still shone through. Lucius left the tent.

His governess had been cross with him, and his mother had fired her on the spot.

Lucius had thought on the hag's words as he had grown. It was why he may have joined the Dark Lord, but with his passing, had not carried on his plots. It was why he used underhanded tactics to get his way, but refused to reveal his real power to those that opposed him. He would keep his power. He enjoyed being the enigma.

Perhaps plotting the murder of the Minister was a bit too evil. Maybe he would donate to a charity afterwards, secretly of course.

He picked up the morning paper to read of his plot. The Minister's death was the headline, of course, and the report detailed the method of murder, an enchanted portrait. The paper did not give the name of the expert who determined the means of assassination, but Lucius knew. He had his own contacts in the Ministry, and so Lucius kept informed of every going on. Lucius did not share his informants with the Dark Lord, though he did on occasion divulge the information gleaned from his spies. This knowledge he would not have to reveal. It would come out on its own.

Lucius put the paper down. The fact of the matter was that Fudge was starting to grow a backbone. He was funding a secret Ministry group to gather intelligence on the Death Eaters and counter their attacks.

There were other options, of course. Lucius knew most of the members in the Arma Civis. It wouldn't be much to have the key members killed, John Kelly, the Head of the Cabinet. Helena Greenwich, Rudy Costace, top Aurors. Jonathan Felix, also on the cabinet. Percy Weasley, assistant to the Minister, and as the assistant position was not appointed, he would be assistant to the next Minister as well. Yes, there were other deaths that would shake the new group as well.

But the Dark Lord had not heard of these names. All Lucius had said was that Fudge was funding a group to counter his influence, and the Dark Lord had ordered the Minister's death. Lucius had agreed, and the plan had succeeded without incident, but for some reason, Lucius had known something was wrong with the way the Dark Lord had pressured his hand. He had known that, but had not been able to muster the emotion needed to feel concerned.

"Your plan was quite successful," said a voice behind him.

_Apathy_, Lucius mused, when the voice neither chilled nor angered him. It was not the purposefully detached state he always strove to achieve; instead he was too far removed, the world lightly covered in a fog he had to strain to see through.

Had his sins finally taken root in his body, slowly insinuating their pale, ghostly tendrils through his veins, freezing his blood? It was as if he could feel them now, working down through his limbs, numbing the muscles. They spread up, encompassing his mind. They deepened, swallowing an already hardened heart.

Lucius stepped closer to the fire.

"Of course it was, milord. It was my plan."

A chuckle that was not entirely amused. The black cloaked figure stepped further into the study and Lucius turned. The black was such a contrast to the browns and golds of the room, the firelight casting a red glow on top of it all, that Lucius fancied he could see the Dark Lord's tainted, stained Aura sifting into the room, dimming the light.

That was, of course, preposterous. His own should have dyed this room black many years ago. Perhaps that was why he'd always avoided dark robes, to reassure himself he wasn't leaving black, oily stains wherever he went.

What was this mood that had come over him so gradually he had no chance to discard the doubting thoughts before they overwhelmed him? Was this madness or simply the effect of a life spoiled on murder and theft?

"Lucius," said the Dark Lord, drawing his name out. "It is no wonder some of my followers find you arrogant, too arrogant for service to me."

"Bellatrix is a loyal devotee," said Lucius. "She is your most faithful servant because she has no thought expect your own thoughts, your own power and glory."

"And you do not think of my power or glory, Lucius?"

"Because she cannot see past you, milord, she is exceedingly short sighted. An effective servant sees more than the master's desires, but sees which enemy must be targeted first, what battle can be won, and through it all, maintains a separate consciousness from the lord. She suffered in Azkaban for you; I built an empire."

"But tell me, Lucius, do you value your empire more than mine? Do you value your rule so that you will not bend a knee to mine own?"

"Do you desire me to kneel?" asked Lucius.

"There was a time when you would kneel and not ask my desire."

Yes, there was a time such as that. A time when it was easier to endure such small, ingratiating acts to soothe a wounded pride, but in his growing years, such a farce was harder to maintain. Questions haunted the corners of his mind. Was this all he had to show for his years? A perceived second to a man who fought in the name of purity but was a half-blood himself?

"There was a time when my knees did not creak or ache at such use," said Lucius lightly.

This time the chuckle was amused.

"We are both growing old, are we not, Lucius?"

"I fear that I will feel the age sooner than you, milord."

"Indeed you shall. You have not my ways of staving off the reaper. Then again, a man without an heir always feels the call to leave this world more strongly than a man with healthy sons."

There it was; the dig at his son. Lucius had been waiting for it. A day hardly seemed to pass without the Dark Lord's mention of Draco.

"Quite so," he said. There was really nothing else to say on the matter. He was quite immune to such comments. Bellatrix and the others had insulted him in every possible way because of Draco's affiliations. The continual mention had made him numb.

He crossed over to his small table, and pulled the top off of a crystal bottle of brandy. He poured to glasses and then passed one on to the Dark Lord.

"When did you begin drinking in the morning, Lucius?"

He started at the end of spring; it became somewhat of a habit a month ago.

"Holidays, milord."

The Dark Lord raised his glass in a toast at that. Lucius savored the brandy, the alcohol creating a slight burn that helped to clear his head.

"When will you choose a new heir?" asked the Dark Lord, passing his glass back. Lucius poured him another.

"In time. Perhaps I shall have another son."

Having another son would mean either coupling with Narcissa or having her killed to claim another wife. Neither option tempted him. He had never thought he would have to choose between the two. Draco had always been the ideal son, so much so that having another, having the spare, would be a slight to Draco. But what now?

"Surely there is someone you trust enough to name your heir," said the Dark Lord.

And there it was. The Malfoy fortune was always coveted, even by the Dark Lord it seems.

"Of course there is," said Lucius. "But I had hoped to leave you someone to take your drinks with when I am gone."

The Dark Lord smiled. "What shall I do when you are gone, my Light One?"

Lucius smiled as well, a smile that was infinitely colder and infinitely less amused.

"Simple, milord, I shall just never leave."

Lucius toasted the Dark Lord with his glass and drained it.

"If you don't mind, I'll put these old knees to bed."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Oh, no. Something's going to happen soon, but what? Leave one!


	21. Parseltongue and Politics

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, thousands of fans would line up at my door if I were to miss a deadline. They would proceed to tie me to my computer and force caffeinated beverages down my throat until the next chapter is done. While many of you may wish to do this, I am merely a fanfic writer who likes to play with other people's characters, so you cannot.

Author's Note: This chapter sets up pretty much the rest of the plot for this book, and a bit of the fourth, ergo, it took me a while to get everything in place. Apologies for the wait. I will not have a chapter up by this Tuesday, but the following week. Oh, and I was told by my sister and a few reviewers that I was completely unclear with the portrait murder, so don't fear, that's explained here with a completely convenient interview by K. Shacklebolt.

oOoOoOooOoOoOooOoOoOooOoOoOooOoOoOo

Draco and Bill got back to the Order from another Auror raid early in the morning. The rest of the house was just sitting down to breakfast, somewhat bleary eyed, although Sirius had been up since Draco and Bill had left on the raid.

"Well?" he asked.

Draco nodded. "The Jordayne safe was broken into roughly fifteen years ago."

"What now?"

"I cross reference my knowledge of the Feles with the Auror list, talk to a few people I know, and come up with a suspect pool. From there on it should be relatively straight forward. We find the thief; we find the cup. We should probably raid one more house, just because Auror raids are rather conspicuous, and the Dark Lord is probably getting word of what houses we're searching. He had the same idea with having Claire check the safes, after all. It wouldn't take too much to get ahead in the search for the last horcrux."

"But you're smarter than him, right?" asked Sirius.

"What?" asked Draco.

"Voldemort. You're smarter than him right?"

Draco shrugged. "It's not entirely a matter of intelligence, but acquired knowledge and information. He's got me beat there."

"But are you more intelligent than him?"

"Probably," said Draco, shrugging again. He sat in the chair next to Ginny and poured himself a cup of coffee. He looked for the paper and saw that Mr. Weasley had it, his face frowning as he read an article.

Draco very much wanted to ask what it said, knowing that the three possible candidates for Minister would be listed there, but he was hesitant to address either of the Weasley parents, Mrs. Weasley in particular. It was odd, he knew, because he was used to conversing with foreign ambassadors and even nobility on occasion, but that was etiquette. He was good at etiquette. He still wasn't quite comfortable with the familiar and casual address yet. Still, he had been waiting for the candidates to be named.

"Who have they put forward for Minister, Mr. Weasley?" he asked, his fingers on his right hand flying through their 1-3-2-4 pattern under the table. With his left hand, he took a sip of coffee to appear completely calm.

Mr. Weasley folded the paper down to look over. "Simon Gallup, Ralph Rawlings, and Osmond Tierney."

Draco put his coffee mug down a little bit too hard because it thumped. "Osmond Tierney?" he reiterated, disbelief staining his voice.

"My reaction as well," said Arthur with a droll note. He passed over the paper and Draco took it, reading it thoroughly and still finishing in the time it would take someone to skim the article.

"Who's Osmond Tierney?" asked Ginny, looking over his shoulder.

"He's a Governor," said Arthur. "He's always rubbed me the wrong way, and he's known to be…well, quite cruel on occasion."

"He shows signs of a classic case of antisocial personality disorder," said Draco. "Symptoms include an inability to feel guilt for harming others, an attitude of recklessness, sometimes impulsive lying and stealing, a lot of aggression with a tendency to violence, and lack of self-control. Substance abuse is common in the APD diagnosed."

"Since when were you his therapist?" asked Sirius.

Draco shrugged. "I met him once at a Ministry function and I could tell there was something off about him. He inspired me to read up on Psychology."

"I don't know why he was even put in office in the first place, much less Minister," said Arthur.

"Because many antisocial personalities also possess a superficial charm. They mimic the behavior they see other people employ."

"He's done no good for the Ministry," said Arthur. "If he becomes Minister, the entire government could be in jeopardy."

"I'll disagree with your first opinion," said Draco. "He's done a lot of good when he was in financing. He single-handedly cleared the eighty year long deficit in the Ministry. He's brilliant with numbers and has an eye for investment patterns. The trouble is, because he's so good with finances, he's saved a lot of people, a lot of powerful people, and they all owed him favors. He's an investor, and he knew when to cash in, and that's how he got to Governor and that's how he got the nomination for Minister."

"But he will bring down the Ministry," said Arthur.

Draco remembered Percy Weasley, putting his name in the Cabinet vote and pulling him aside. He remembered the promise of others in the Ministry fighting against the Dark Lord. If Tierney won, it would be because the Dark Lord put him in. Tierney wasn't a Death Eater, but the Dark Lord could offer the position, and the Dark Lord could use a mad leader to distract the people of England while he waited for the perfect opportunity to strike.

Still, if there were people in the Ministry as Percy promised, members of the Cabinet and the Auror force, the Ministry could be saved.

"I think," he said carefully, "that we should give the people in the Ministry credit where it is due. Some are figureheads and political pawns, but there are some people I could think of who would object to such a leader."

There was silence at the table, and Draco could tell from the dropped gazes and furrowed brows, that the family was thinking of their renegade brother who, in their minds, chose his own career over his brothers and sister, mother and father.

"Percy," said Charlie, the only one brave enough to say his name. It wasn't just courage though. Charlie was very much the anchor of the family, the quick temper that the rest of the family possessed seemed to skip the second eldest child. Either that or his volatile work atmosphere had quenched the flames. "Percy wouldn't allow Tierney to be Minister if he's as bad as you say."

"I doubt any one person has so much say in the matter," said Mr. Weasley stiffly.

"Maybe not, but if Tierney does get put in, Percy would be doing everything in his power to get him out again." Charlie's voice was adamant, assured.

Draco looked around to see that not all of the Weasleys looked convinced. Even Bill was frowning, as if he wanted to believe Charlie, but somehow couldn't shake the notion that Percy was just looking out for himself. Ginny appeared very much divided, like Bill, while Fred and George shook their heads. They said nothing though, not when Mr. Weasley was looking so pinched, and Mrs. Weasley was blinking suspiciously.

So this was the cardinal sin of the Weasley clan. Draco felt relieved knowing the picture-perfect family had a flaw, and that flaw was being unable to cope with anyone who forsook the family and the Order. There was no way to be in one without the other. Courage, love, and loyalty, that was what the family was based around. When that same loyalty was applied to Albus Dumbledore, who had helped protect the family during the first rise of the Dark Lord, the patriarch and matriarch simply supposed their children would have no qualms with the shift of power.

Percy saw how ardently Albus Dumbledore fought the Dark Lord. He saw what Albus Dumbledore would be willing to sacrifice to defeat Voldemort. He saw what power Dumbledore had, what power the Order gave to Dumbledore. That scared him.

Draco understood the concern, but unlike Percy, his family was not forcing him to agree with everything Dumbledore said. If Draco wanted, he could leave right then. Percy had no such way to object and turning to the Ministry was the only way he could fight for his own beliefs.

The subject was changed, but the mood stayed dark.

Draco went to his study after breakfast, intent on starting that suspect list, and he made good headway, but the theft had taken place when he was a mere child of two and not even living in England. He was familiar with the more famous Feles, but the really good thieves weren't known at all. He would need to take a trip into Knockturn Alley in the near future, preferably tonight or tomorrow.

He sighed, but actually put the list away before he gave himself a migraine, or rather, a tension headache, by trying to draw conclusions on too little information. Putting such a project aside would have never occurred to him before. He would have continued to work, and he would have made a bit more progress, but that the cost of exhaustion. It was startling how easily he put the project down. He wondered what else had changed through his associations with a group of Gryffindors.

Draco pulled out the book on Parseltongue Harry had given him and flipped it open. He couldn't even begin to speak some of the combinations, but there were a few words that sounded similar to an ancient Persian dialect, used by warlocks of the highest order.

He doubted that he would ever truly speak the language, but that didn't stop him from sounding out the few easy words, his voice halting but getting quite close to the real pronunciation. He was so intent on the words, he didn't notice the knife slowly rising into the air. It was the blade that the Dark Lord had stabbed through his arm. It had been placed on the top of the bookshelf, and now it was floating above the shelf. When he stopped speaking, fell with a clatter.

Draco jerked up at the noise, his hand going for his wand even as he stood. He stared at the knife on the bookshelf. What had happened?

He stepped over and examined the weapon. It didn't appear to be any different, completely unchanged from the first time Draco had seen it. The blade was still a gleaming silver with the snake furrow through the center. The hilt was still wrapped in dragon leather, another silver serpent wrapped around the hilt, it's head resting on the end for a pommel.

Draco put the knife back on the shelf and stepped back. He returned to his desk, sat, and, trying to recreate the situation, repeated the Parseltongue. The knife shifted and rose, and this time Draco kept speaking the words he knew as he got up to approach the weapon.

The knife wasn't glowing, and it was cool to the touch. Besides floating in the air, it had not changed. Draco stopped speaking and caught the knife as it fell. An idea hit him and had him hurrying back to the journal. He flipped through the pages, finding the words that could be used as spells, and the words that he could pronounce.

He picked up his wand and, while performing the flick of a simple lighting spell, spoke the snake word for light instead of 'lux'.

Blinding white light shot from his wand, spilling into the entire room, so bright he slammed his eyes shut, but it was more than light, it was heat too. Draco recoiled, instinctively dropping his wand and throwing his hands over his face as fire scorched at his exposed skin. The burst died down immediately, but his face and hands still felt raw.

He picked his wand up and conjured a mirror. His skin was pink and hot to the touch, but the flush was already fading.

Draco surveyed his room. A few papers and books had been knocked off the his desk with the rush of light, but there was no severe damage.

Draco let out a breath in a half-laugh. This explained so much. This explained why Slytherin was such a powerful wizard, and why the Dark Lord had so much strength. The serpentine language was power in and of itself.

This wasn't to say Parseltongue was the only reason they were powerful. Not just any witch or wizard would be able to cast with Parseltongue, and not just because the language was impossible to pronounce. That light charm was incredibly powerful, and it was capable of doing much more than blinding. He should have been a pile of ash with how hot that light was, even before he dropped his wand, but even though the spell was powerful, Draco still had control over it. The language was power, and the magic was power. Together, it would take a strong mind to control it. Both Salazar and the Dark Lord were strong.

This also explained why the knife was capable of staying hidden on his person. No common detection spell would be able to counteract the Parseltongue wards on the knife.

Draco had the fallen papers stacked on his desk with a quick wave of his wand, and then he started a list of the words he could pronounce, the words that could be used in spells. It wasn't much, but there were a few spells that would work offensively. He would have to show this to Harry, but not yet. He would have to further examine the effects of the spells. Controlling that amount of magic could be tiresome, and tiring in the middle of a battle was usually fatal.

This also meant the knife must have been Slytherin's. No one else had spoken the language since the Hogwarts founder, besides the Dark Lord, and obviously he hadn't made the knife; it was far too old. Draco lifted the blade with a new respect, and suddenly he was seized with the desire to make his own. If he could dissect the spells used, if he could create his own copy, then maybe he would gain just a bit more insight into the mind of the greatest wizard to ever walk the earth.

He began to study the knife in earnest, but was interrupted by lunch. He joined the rest of the family rather reluctantly but it actually proved to be useful. The Headmaster was there, speaking with a few of the adults about campaigns. Apparently Dumbledore's contacts in the Ministry said that Tierney had more support than originally thought.

Draco caught Dumbledore after lunch, before he Flooed back to the Ministry. Dumbledore turned when he approached, his eyebrows rising in invitation.

"You remember the knife that the Dark Lord used to mark me," said Draco, not bothering to make it a question.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "If I remember correctly, the weapon exhibited an extraordinary amount of power. I did try looking at it, when you were still in the infirmary recovering."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You did?"

"A cursory check," said the Headmaster. "I didn't want there to be any hidden curses when you began your investigation."

"Because I am obviously inexperienced when it comes to dark magic," said Draco, affecting a droll tone of voice because revealing his annoyance would only make the Headmaster give that amused sort of smile, the smile an adult might give to a pouting child.

The Headmaster's smile this time was much less grating.

"I have complete faith in your abilities, but you must forgive an old man his caution. There are curses I have seen that have not been taught in school or written in books. The search proved to be quite ineffectual though. When I tried to check it for spells and wards, all of my instruments registered the knife as being magicless, Muggle even."

Draco raised both of his eyebrows now. "Intriguing," he said, already exploring what that bit of information meant.

"Did you need to ask me anything in particular about the knife?" asked Dumbledore, after a moment of silence from Draco.

"Hm, oh, yes," said Draco, and then smoothly launched into his lie. "I was attempting to date the knife, and it registered old, ancient in fact. I don't suppose there are any books at Hogwarts that would detail the surviving possessions of Salazar Slytherin?"

"You think the knife could have been Slytherin's?"

"Or an early descendant," said Draco. "The dating came back rather vague."

He didn't know why he wasn't telling Dumbledore that the knife had been spelled with Parseltongue. Perhaps it was simply a trait that had been ingrained into him, never to reveal a possible weapon or source of power. Keep it for your own advantage. Perhaps it was the perfectionist in him, the desire to have everything figured out before he spoke of his speculations. Perhaps there was just a small voice that said 'keep quiet, you will need this soon'. Fate had once spoken to him, although he did not remember yet.

"Fascinating," said Dumbledore. "I do have a few books that might shed some light on the matter. They're in my office, in fact. The Floo is up there, and the password is Phoenix, unimaginative, I know, but the repair team uses it while they fix the rest of the school. The bookshelf across from my desk holds the volumes on the history of Hogwarts and its founders. Slytherin has a whole row of books, the fourth shelf up. You won't be able to take them out of the office, but feel free to stay awhile. Use the bell on the fireplace to call the house elves for coffee or biscuits."

"Thank you," said Draco.

"Not at all, my boy," said Dumbledore jovially. "And since I don't have any to offer you, help yourself to a lemon drop while you're there."

Draco nodded again and watched the Headmaster disappear in green flames. Draco collected a few things before leaving himself, calling up the Headmaster's office.

As he was Head Boy, the Headmaster's office was nothing new, but he had only ever entered it alone once, and that was after he had rescued Ginny from the dark ghoul, not half a year ago.

Draco stepped out of the Floo and paused, taking his time to survey the office as it was an impressive collection of magic. He took a step forward, and the candles lit themselves and the drapes pulled back from the large windows. It was sunny outside, and now the room was flooded with light, almost welcoming him in.

Draco allowed himself a few moments of exploration, not touching anything, but memorizing. There were always new objects coming in, and old ones disappearing as new charms were developed. Even without the new arrivals, he could spend weeks just examining the wards and dark magic detectors about the room.

He looked at the portraits on the wall with a little consternation, remembering the bloody letter-opener in Donahue's frame.

The bookshelf across from the Headmaster's desk did indeed have an entire shelf dedicated to Salazar Slytherin. Draco had read two of the tomes, but the majority of the books were the only surviving compilations of their kind.

He reached out to take a book, hesitating only slightly in reverence before he pulled out '_The Magic of Slytherin_'. It was large and leather bound and almost falling apart, held together by magic and twine.

Draco moved back to one of the chintz armchairs and sat. He waved his wand, calling over a coffee table, and settled in to read. He read at an incredibly fast pace, but even so, he had to skim over much of the information, turning only to the chapters that detailed some of Salazar's magical inventions and possession. There was nothing on the knife, but there was a chapter on a sword belonging to him, one that Salazar had forged himself, complete with spells that were stronger than any other weapon. Rumor had it, with that sword, Salazar had even beat Godric Gryffindor with the blade. Slytherin had not killed Gryffindor then, their dispute had yet to become fatal.

Draco took note of the sword's capabilities, writing in the journal Ginny had given him for Christmas. It was more than useful, being able to write as much as he needed and not having to worry about space. The words he wrote disappeared after he filled a page, so he never had to turn to a blank sheet, but he could still review what he had written by simply brushing his fingers on an embossed symbol of an arrow in the corner.

He went through three books before his shoulders started aching and there was a warning twinge in the back of his head which proved that his migraines really were tension headaches. He called for a cup of coffee from the house elves, and was given an entire pot and mug, a set of cream and sugar, and a platter of accompanying biscuits.

Draco found a sketch of the knife in the fourth book, written primarily in Latin. He was flipping through a chapter on the later years of Slytherin's life, and there it was, surrounded by text. Draco put down his coffee.

The knife was not of magical origin, even though Draco had suspected it had been. The workmanship was so fine it could have passed as ancient elvish work, before the tall, silvery folk had disappeared back into their forests. Here, however, the book claimed that the knife was crafted specifically for Slytherin, by a Muggle, though no one knew for what purpose.

It could be that the Parseltongue spells Slytherin put into the knife were so delicate, any other trace of magic would interfere, but the book made no further comments about the knife, except that it was passed down through the generations. The knife was lost for several centuries before reappearing in the Black vaults. That explained how the Dark Lord had recovered the knife.

Draco wondered if the Dark Lord knew that the knife was Salazar's. He must have suspected, if not known, because the knife responded to Parseltongue. Then again, Nagini had been killed so that the Dark Lord could be re-bonded with his Horcrux. Perhaps he hadn't used the snake language since then.

The book went on to detail the accounts of Salazar's death. Draco skimmed this bit for any more information on the knife, having already known the story.

Slytherin's dispute with the other three Founders of Hogwarts had grown. They did not share his prejudice or see his vision of a Pureblood hierarchy. To preserve the school, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff set up wards, denying Slytherin entrance. He attacked, of course, but the wards were so strong, nothing short of the three Founders' death would allow him inside.

Refusing to be defeated, Slytherin called upon the last remaining warlock, Gorwhym the Gaunt, and his legion of vampires to his aide. In the resulting battle, Hufflepuff was mortally wounded. When she passed, Slytherin found himself weakened. The three Founders had tied him to their fate, so even if Salazar managed to kill them all, he too would be dead and unable to claim Hogwarts.

While Slytherin attempted to recover in Gorwhym's castle, deep in the Black Forest, the warlock betrayed him, wishing to take Slytherin's land and power as his own. Slytherin slew the vampire army, but mortally injured from the fight, he could only defeat Gorwhym by grabbing hold of the warlock as they fought on the highest tower and throwing them both over the side.

Drago, the last of the Ladon Dragons and captive of the warlock, then broke free and killed Gorwhym. Salazar was incinerated in the flames as well.

Some say that, as Salazar fell, he cast one last spell, one that broke the chains on Drago. He then called upon the dragon to kill him, so that he would not be slain by a traitor. Others say that Drago broke free by pure strength of will, so that he could take his retribution as the warlock had killed the rest of the Ladon Dragons.

Still, there was another rumor that said Drago killed Gorwhym, but caught Salazar and took him to the land. Salazar then killed himself, so that none could say they had killed Slytherin. That rumor was generally dismissed as Salazar's body was never recovered.

Draco copied over the few paragraphs on the knife and then stretched once more. When the tension in his shoulders didn't abate, he stood up and took a quick turn about Dumbledore's office.

Fawkes was sleeping on his stand, he had been since Draco arrived, but now he blinked awake and peered at Draco in curiosity. Draco raised an eyebrow. Fawkes lost interest rather quickly and started preening his scarlet feathers.

Draco turned to the window, looking out at the still grounds of Hogwarts. It was sunny, and picturesque, and rather boring. He turned back, the bright spot of yellow on Dumbledore's desk catching his eye, and there, right below the bowl of lemon drops, was a book. It was still open and sat on top of papers and letters and various quills. Curious, Draco approached.

He scanned the open pages, and raised his eyebrows. The Headmaster was reading up on Horcruxes.

Draco had never been able to find much information on Horcruxes, so he read the pages, absorbing in the information.

He knew the basics, of course. The murder had to be premeditated. A killing in self-defense or in a mindless rage was not evil enough to rip the soul. Premeditation rotted away at the mind, preparing the soul for the split.

Right before the murder, a dark curse had to be cast, one that would catch the soul after it was ripped from the body. Then another curse had to direct the torn bit of soul into a magical object to hold it.

This book called the objects a 'vessel' and suggested what would be needed for inhabitation by a piece of a soul. The vessel had to be of magical origin and unwarded, but other than that, the details were vague. In fact, there didn't appear to be any definite facts in the book, a difficulty Draco found when trying to research horcruxes as well.

The book also hypothesized that a small connection would be made between the pieces of the soul. If the creator of the horcrux was in the same area as the ensouled item (same area meaning same building), then he (or she) would be able to locate the horcrux without prior knowledge to its location.

Draco made a note of that. Hufflepuff's cup, the last Horcrux, so far had not been in the same house as the Dark Lord, but that didn't mean there was a way to boost that connection. If the Dark Lord did find a way to track the Horcrux from long distances, it could give him a decided advantage.

The sentence at the bottom of the page caught his attention. "_After the Battle at Merlin's Staircase, the injured Slytherin was taken to his castle, delirious and raving that his soul had been torn. He would not be calmed until he received counsel from the Sorceress Morgane. A year was he mad, seeking to repair his soul, and when he emerged, he sought war against those who were not of magical lineage, beginning the Years of Blood until his death at the castle of Gorwhym the Gaunt. It was this account of a torn soul which inspired Morgane, and why the sorceress attributes Slytherin with the first Horcrux although there is no record of a Horcrux being created until-_-,"

Draco tried to turn the page, but found he couldn't move the papers. Dumbledore's desk was obviously charmed. Draco frowned, wondering what the title of the book was, but even closing the book was impossible. Usually such charms were put upon desks holding bank books and ledgers, to keep embezzling secretaries away, and the charm worked better when the book was closed first. Draco wondered if Dumbledore had simply run late while reading, and left before he had a chance to close it, or if he simply didn't want to lose his page.

He toyed with the notion of asking Dumbledore about the book, but then he would have to admit to snooping. He sighed and took a lemon drop from the bowl on the desk before returning to his own work. Draco figured he should get back for dinner, and he had one more stop to make before heading back to the Order.

oOoOoOooOoOoOooOoOoOooOoOoOooOoOoOo

Ginny was setting the table when her dad and Dumbledore arrived, half an hour before dinner. Both of them looked a bit grim, and, after dropping a quick kiss on her cheek, Arthur went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. He was immediately shooed out by Mrs. Weasley who called Ginny to get the coffee instead.

Ginny knew that coffee with dinner meant that her father would be going back to the office after the meal. She poured a mug of coffee and then a cup of tea for Dumbledore and brought it into the dining room where her dad and the Headmaster were sitting, in deep conversation.

"Thank you, Ginny," said Arthur, and Dumbledore echoed the thanks, twinkling at her merrily, as if he hadn't been looking decidedly worried just seconds before.

"What's happening at the Ministry?" she asked.

Her father sighed, but took a sip of coffee and explained.

"The Aurors have no evidence on who assassinated Fudge and it looks like Tierney might win the election."

Ginny was about to press for more information when the Floo flared in the fireplace and Draco stepped out. She smiled, pleased to note that he was carrying the notebook she had given him for Christmas. He gave that tiny upturn of one side of his mouth.

"Find anything useful?" asked Dumbledore.

"The knife was Slytherin's," said Draco. "That's all I know for sure right now, but that will help me dissemble some of the wards on the knife."

"What was Slytherin's?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"The knife that the Dark Lord decided to run through my arm to get his kicks," said Draco.

"You sound like the knife being Slytherin's makes it all worth it," Ginny teased. He did sound remarkably less bothered by the scar on his arm, but that was probably because he was excited about examining the knife.

Draco smirked and shrugged a shoulder. "I think the knife was bound to me because of it. I'm just glad it wasn't Gryffindor's."

He walked back to his study, no doubt to put his things away.

"Nothing wrong with Gryffindor," Ginny called after him.

"I'm not even deigning that with an argument," came the response.

Ginny grinned, glad that he seemed to be loosening up. He even tolerated family meals now and showed up for them without being dragged in by herself or Bill. She turned back to the table, the silly grin still on her face, and caught Dumbledore watching her with an especially bright twinkle and her father looked a little startled. He had obviously thought that dating Draco was like dating Dean, a fun relationship, but not serious or containing any real substance. She liked Dean, but she hadn't felt particularly attached to him.

Ginny blushed at their stares and mumbled an excuse. She left to help her mother in the kitchen, knowing that she was falling for Draco faster than she wanted, but there didn't seem to be any way to slow down. She already liked Draco far more than he liked her, or at least appeared to like her, and falling in love with him would leave her incredibly vulnerable to heartbreak.

Once dinner was on the table, and the family gathered around, her father spoke up.

"I'll have to head back to the office after this," he started, helping himself to a piece of steak and passing the plate.

"What's going on?" asked Bill. He served Fleur's plate as his wife had her hands full, gently bouncing a fussy Lukas.

"Well, for one, the Aurors have no suspects for the death of the Minister," said Arthur. "That's causing a good deal of chaos alone. Secondly, it looks like Tierney has a good deal of support, and they just had the first debate today."

Ginny had listened to the debates on the radio. There was a decided creep factor to Tierney, but after the whole diary fiasco, her 'creep' sense was much more advanced than the average citizen.

"The elections aren't for a week yet," said Hermione. "Is it really that decided already?"

Draco spoke up. "It's not an official election," he said. "Because Fudge was assassinated, that makes the election fall under the war time law. The Board of Governors will be electing the Minister."

"The Board is notorious for electing Minister's who will protect the Ministry's interests," said Arthur. "They will be looking for a Minister to increase their power during these uncertain times for fear they will lose their positions."

"Is Tierney a Death Eater?" asked Harry.

Draco snorted. "He's a Halfblood, and likes to proclaim it. That's why he'll be elected, because the Board thinks he'll do everything in his power to stop the Death Eaters. Those Governors who are Death Eaters are going to vote for him because having a crazed Minister is a good distraction for the rest of England. While they try to get him out of power, once they realize he's a psychopath, the Dark Lord will be able to infiltrate the Ministry, or simply wipe it out."

"Draco's right," said Dumbledore. "We'll have to do our very best to get another Minister in place. Arthur and I are adding our support to Ralph Rawling's campaign." He turned to Draco. "Could we count on your support as well?"

Ginny looked over to Draco beside her. Draco took a sip of pumpkin juice before replying.

"I can't support Rawlings," he said.

She could see Dumbledore raise his eyebrows and glance to her father. Arthur Weasley put down his fork.

"It's doubtful Rawlings would be elected without the support of an influential businessman. We were hoping you would agree to help."

Draco shook his head. "Rawlings wouldn't get elected even if you had the whole of Gringotts supporting him. Your best bet is to campaign for Gallup."

"Simon Gallup would not do enough against Voldemort. He refuses to see the threat he poses. He would undermine what little Fudge has done for us."

"And Rawlings has no charisma to him. He may be the best candidate, but backing him isn't going to do any good. He's a non entity. He was thrown in because he has a few friends on the Board, but they aren't going to carry him, and nothing I could do would insure that."

"You could try," Arthur started, but Draco cut him off.

"I'm not going to support him and hope for a miracle. If you support Gallup and I publically backed him, he would win, that's a guarantee."

The table was silent. Ginny bit her lip. Draco didn't always agree with the Order, but this was the first time he had refused to go along with Dumbledore. She was aware of the fact that this was how the split with Percy began. Well, his priggish attitude had caused a few hairline fractures, but when he spoke to their parents about his disagreement, they had refused to listen.

Ginny hadn't listened either. She hadn't understood at the time. She thought now that maybe the split didn't have to happen, maybe they could have just agreed to disagree, but there were such horrible things said that night, maybe Percy's departure was the only way.

"Draco, I would ask you to reconsider," said Dumbledore.

Bill was looking to Draco, frowning a bit in concern. Bill could read him better than anyone, but Ginny thought she picked up a few signs of tension too. She dropped her hand to his knee and squeezed gently. He spared her a quick glance before responding to Dumbledore.

"Rawlings is Pureblood. If I supported him, the press would spin it. They would say I suffer the same prejudice as my father. The help I could give would be damaged because of that, my influence lessened, not to mention my reputation damaged. If you want, I'll stay out of this campaign. I won't back Gallup, so maybe you can win his supporters, but that's all the help I offer."

It seemed a suitable compromise to Ginny. The Headmaster apparently thought so as well.

"That would be appreciated," said Dumbledore.

"But surely you could explain why you support Rawlings so people would understand," said Mrs. Weasley.

Ginny silently groaned and telepathically urged her mother to stay silent. Discussions on politics never ended well in their family.

"The Death Eaters have quite a bit of influence in the media," said Draco.

"But the Governors will realize that. Everyone knows not to completely believe the news," she pressed.

"Mum," said Ginny, finally stepping in. "I'm sure Draco knows what he's talking about. He wouldn't refuse if not for a good reason."

"But I'm just wondering," said her mother. "Headmaster Dumbledore seems to think his support would help and maybe he knows something Draco doesn't."

"He probably knows a lot I don't," said Draco, and his tone was so cool and authoritative, it was almost comical how everyone seemed to snap to attention. "However, I have grown up attending Ministry debates. I attended several cloister sessions over the years and can call over half of the Board of Governors by their first names. I am also familiar with the media. I had my first interview when I was six years old, I have attended over fifty publicized galas and conferences, and, if I should ask, I could have reporters from all seven major news companies arrive in the middle of Muggle London in a matter of minutes.

"I know how these elections will be run. There are Death Eaters in the media. They will spin Tierney as a messiah. With all of the people backing Tierney, if a Governor ever wants to be re-elected, he'll vote for Tierney. There are Death Eaters high up in office. If a Governor owes a favor, or wants a favor, he'll vote for Tierney. If a Governor looks like he won't be voting for Tierney, there are Death Eaters with death threats to insure he'll vote for Tierney.

"The only way the candidate not supported by the Death Eaters will win this election, is if there is an obvious choice, one so blatant that anyone who does vote for Tierney will be labeled a Death Eater. Put Gallup against Tierney, and everyone will see the difference between genuine charm and insincere gratitude. Rawlings is too much of a joke as a public speaker for that definition to be made."

"You paint a grim picture of our government," said Dumbledore. "Do you really have no hope for Rawling's election?"

"Sometimes you have to extinguish that hope. I understand that Rawlings is the best man, but sometimes you have to choose the lesser of two evils to ensure you won't meet with disaster."

The table was silent. Even Fred and George looked serious.

"That's very Slytherin of you," said Arthur Weasley finally.

"I see that as a compliment," said Draco.

"You may take it as one," said Arthur. "Some men are blessed with the ability to make the difficult decisions. We are the ones that hold out for hope's sake."

And the conversation ended. It was an awkward ending, followed by an awkward silence, but Ginny couldn't help wonder how this difference was settled so much better than Percy. Perhaps it was simply because Percy was a Weasley. It was one thing if a Malfoy and a Slytherin displayed a different political standing; it was completely different when the one displaying the difference was raised to be a conservative and a Gryffindor.

The conversation never fully recovered until dessert when Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped through the fireplace.

"Kingsley," Dumbledore greeted. "What brings you here?"

"I could smell Molly's lemon cake all the way from my office," said the large man, offering a smile.

He was bid to grab a seat and Mrs. Weasley served him a big slice of cake.

"Tea, Kingsley?" she asked.

"Coffee, if you have it," said Shacklebolt. "I'm headed back to the office, but I stopped on by to see Draco here."

The table turned to look at the Slytherin who had so adamantly shown his colors over dinner. Draco was still on edge from the political talk, and this time it was much more obvious, to Ginny at least. His face was perfectly composed and he held himself perfectly straight. The biggest tell-tale sign was that he was picking at his cake and hadn't finished his dinner. Conflict seemed to stifle his appetite.

Draco raised an eyebrow in inquiry but Kingsley didn't elaborate until he had his first bite of cake and showered Mrs. Weasley with praise. He pulled out a notebook and a quill.

"We're finally going public with the report of Fudge's death. Because you were the expert who figured it out, I'll need a statement explaining the method of murder, one that the reporters can understand, so the smaller the words, the better."

Ginny saw the way Draco slightly tilted his head to the side and hesitated. She hid a smile.

Ron laughed, finishing off the last bit of political strain. "You can't do it, can you, Malfoy?" he asked.

"How about I run it by you, Weasley, and your stare of incomprehension can warn me when I use a two syllable word." Draco responded lightly, obviously not wanting to offend. He looked to Kingsley.

"Anytime you're ready," said the Auror.

"Magical portraits," Draco began, "are classified as level two beings, having some level of consciousness. Because of this, they can be controlled, like any animal or person. The consciousness of Edward Donahue's portrait was captured with the aid of an Aspiro Orb and pressed into a Corporus.

"A Corporus is a magical body, made up of a magical fields and illusion. They are easy to create and these figures can be given simple commands to fulfill simple tasks, such as directing broom traffic in fly zones. Normally, the Corporus is harmless, unable to physically or magically interact with solid objects or people.

"The real assassin of Minister Fudge was the man or woman who gave the Minister a sapphire letter opener. This letter-opener was detailed in Edward Donahue's portrait. The process of creating a magical portrait involves taking small samples of the objects pictured, which allows the subject, in this case Donahue, to interact with the painted environment, sitting in a chair for example, or leaning against a desk or picking up a book.

"Because Donahue's consciousness was put into the body, his ability to interact with the painted environment translated into real life. He was able to pick up the real, solid letter-opener and with it, he was able to kill Minister Fudge as he was commanded. This transfer of environments is also why the knife in the portrait is covered in the Minister's blood."

"But wouldn't someone have to be there?" asked Hermione. "To spell the portrait into the body?"

Draco shook his head. "After we discovered the method of murder-,"

"After you discovered it," Kingsley interrupted.

"-we found a time-delayed spell on an Aspiro Orb in the Minister's office. It was transfigured to look like a common paperweight. The spells weren't classified as harmful, as it was simply calling a Corporus, and so did not trigger the safety wards on the office."

"The orb," said Kingsley, filling in, "could have been placed in the Minister's office in a two-week period, that's all we've been able to narrow it down to. Unfortunately, there were several meetings and conferences held in that period and it could have been one of eighty suspects."

"There must have been someone suspicious," said Charlie.

"Fifteen of them are suspected Death Eaters. Thirty have Death Eater affiliations or family members in league with Voldemort."

"Anyone on the top of the list?" asked Ron.

"Lucius Malfoy, for one," said Kingsley, and the name caused the room to turn to Draco.

Draco shrugged. "If it was him, you won't be able to prove it." He said it neutrally, but Ginny had to wonder if Draco somehow knew the truth.

"So, what good was the investigation?" asked Ron.

"If we knew nothing, the public would lose hope," said Kingsley. "We know the method and we can insinuate that the Dark Lord had a hand in the assassination."

"But that's it," said Harry.

"That's it," Kingsley agreed.

It was a grim reality that England would not know the identity of the Minister's killer. Ginny wondered how that would affect the already waning morale of the people. She knew that a couple of kids in school might be leaving the country with their parents, and after the attack on Hogwarts, it looked as if there was no place safe.

The grim atmosphere did not stay long. For one thing, the cake was too good. Another was that Fred and George took it upon themselves to cheer everyone by reciting every joke they had ever heard. The jokes were lame, and played badly on words, but it worked. By the end, everyone was laughing, and even Draco quirked a smile.

Ginny grabbed Draco before he had a chance to escape after dessert.

"Hey, have a minute?" she asked.

"Is this where I pretend to be gallant and say 'two minutes for you'?" Draco asked.

"Glib is a good attitude on you."

"And cheeky goes well with red hair."

Ginny smiled and dragged Draco up to her room. Draco pulled back by her door.

"Am I allowed in?" he asked. "Your parents didn't put a ward on the door that would turn me into a frog or anything, did they?"

"Not that I know of," said Ginny.

She laughed as Draco gazed in askance at the door and then finally pulled out his wand.

"Are you cautious through experience?" Ginny had to know.

"I've heard stories. Mostly from Blaise."

Ginny watched Draco cast a few charms on the door before giving an amused smirk and walking inside. The door shot all the way open and glued itself to the opposite wall.

"That's not going to close while I'm in here," said Draco.

"Could you take it off?"

"Easily, but I'm pretty sure your brothers would fry me afterwards, so I'll leave it."

Ginny sat on her bed and leaned over to grab a stack of papers from her bedside table. Draco still hung back until she patted her duvet. He pulled off his shoes and sat on the foot of her bed. He effortlessly pulled up his legs to sit in the half-lotus position.

"I've named it," said Ginny, handing over the score for the orchestral movement.

"That was fast," said Draco.

"It rather named itself."

She had listened to the charmed paper play the symphony once and had immediately known what it should be, although she listened to it another two just to be sure.

She watched Draco glance down and read the title. His left eyebrow arched.

"Song of Seraph," he said. "The song of the burning ones." He looked up, the corners of his mouth upturning a tad bit. "It's good."

"So, did you just give it to me because you couldn't think of a good enough name?" Ginny teased.

"Well, I thought about dedicating it to you, but then it would be pretty obvious who wrote it."

"And it's a secret because?" Ginny asked, not condemning him but curious.

He gave a half-shrug. "It's nice to have something that's purely mine, without any other expectations or requests."

"I can understand that," said Ginny. "And thank you. It's lovely."

"Even if no one ever knows that it was for you?"

"Well, I suppose it's like you said. It's nice to have something purely mine, even a secret."

Draco's lips did that slight quirk thing and Ginny leaned forward to kiss them. Draco responded, deepening the kiss but taking his time exploring her mouth, finding every spot that made her shiver. Her eyes closed of their own accord as her mind couldn't take in any more information, not when he was kissing like that. She rather thought that having her boyfriend in the same house would lead to many more opportunities to make-out, but it was probably a good thing Draco was so preoccupied. His kisses were pure temptation, inciting all sorts of wicked desires.

She forced her eyes open, finding his molten silver gaze. She pulled back with a smile and patted his legs. He raised an eyebrow, but straightened his legs in front of him as she directed. Mindful of the open door, Ginny decided not to straddle his legs and instead knelt beside him. She reached up to brush his hair back.

"Close your eyes," she whispered.

He hesitated; he wouldn't be Draco Malfoy if he wasn't wary of such a vulnerable act. She simply waited though, and he finally acquiesced, shifting to lean back on his arms and his eyelids closed. She had a moment of envy for his dark, thick lashes and then slowly leaned forward.

At the first brush of lips, he was so tensed she could feel a slight tremble from the strain. At the second, he brushed back. The third time he caught her lips, delving inside with his tongue. She had to force herself to keep her own eyes open, to watch for his, but he was a quick learner, if a bit hesitant without his sight.

He shifted his weight on one arm, reaching over and searching for her, as if he had to hold onto her if he couldn't see her. His hand found her arm and then slid up so his fingers could tangle in her hair.

He pulled back after a few moments, eyes flickering open. He looked a little bit unsure of himself and a little bit dazed.

Ginny smiled. "See?"

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

So, there you have it. The...well, I don't know what chapter this is just yet. I lose track, lol. I would love a review, so please consider pushing that button.


	22. The Start of Tyranny

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I often mourn this fact.

Author's Note: Get this. The chapter is over 12,000 words. That's right. Thirty pages. Impressed? You know it. That's why it's late.

--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--

Draco flipped through his notes and twisted his neck to the side. He was sitting on the floor in the living room, listening to the last debate with the rest of the family. Yesterday the Weasleys had gone out to visit relatives, leaving Harry, Sirius, and Draco in the house alone (Hermione was visiting her own family).

Draco had managed, before Sirius and Harry and dragged him outside to fly brooms in a magical park across town, to make a list of all the spells he suspected were on Slytherin's knife, and now he was just looking through them, trying to figure out what order Slytherin must have put them on the blade.

Over the radio, Rawlings made an incredibly stuttering statement that managed to say nothing at all. He was supposed to have answered the question, 'As Minister, what would be your response to the recent threats against the security of this country?' Draco stifled his snort. The Order was supporting Rawlings, so he figured he shouldn't act too condescending. He also should skip saying 'I told you so' when Tierney was elected. He jotted down a note and rolled his neck again.

"Here," said Ginny, coming to sit on the couch beside him. She ran her fingers over the tops of his shoulders. "I swear, you have the worst knots ever. How do you manage it?"

Draco dropped his head forward, letting her fingers knead the back of his neck.

"I think you're working too hard, or thinking too hard, or something," Ginny continued. "You need to relax."

"I am relaxed," said Draco.

Ginny pressed down on a particularly tight group of muscles and he hissed, his shoulder spasming.

"Care to repeat that?" she asked.

"You've proven your point," said Draco, reaching back to rub his shoulder.

Ginny pushed his fingers away and massaged the area. Draco slowly relaxed under the firm pressure of her hands. On the radio, Tierney answered the question to applause and cheers from the audience. Across the room, Mrs. Weasley frowned, her knitting needles clacking harder together. Bill shifted Lukas to the other arm and Charlie rolled over on the couch, eyes still closed. Draco couldn't figure out if he was sleeping or simply resting. Harry sighed and lost the game of chess to Ron again.

Fred and George were absent, as witnessed by the silence, and Fleur had gone out to stop by her office to pick up a few dresses that needed alterations. One of them was for Ginny, a Christmas present from Fleur who knew what dating Draco would mean, outings that were in the public spotlight. Mr. Weasley was at the debates with Dumbledore.

Draco rearranged the order of the spells for the fourth time, and felt that he had finally gotten it right. He put the pages down and joined Ginny on the loveseat.

"Did you want to go out to eat before the symphony tomorrow?" he asked.

"I'd like that," said Ginny.

"The symphony is at eight, so reservations for six?"

"Sounds like a plan."

Draco shifted, and then in a rare act, initiated physical contact by resting his hand on the sofa so that it brushed hers. She completed the move, entwining their fingers, and they listened to the host retake the microphone.

"And that was the response from Simon Gallup. It's easy to see who the crowd favorite is. In the audience's eyes, or should I say ears, Tierney can say no wrong. Although Gallup is getting favorable response from the left, Osmond Tierney is completely dominating this floor. Let's get a quick word with our reporter Sonya Derrick who is sitting with Tierney's campaign manager now. Sonya, what is it about Tierney that has completed captured this audience?"

"Good question, Mike," came Sonya's voice. "There's no doubt about it, the population loves Tierney, but the question is, will the Board of Governors? Tierney has an odd sort of charisma, and his campaign manager Peter Holtz is not letting that talent go to waste. Peter, how are you promoting Tierney?"

Peter laughed. "Osmond Tierney doesn't need promotion. Anyone can see that he will be a new sort of Minister, one that isn't afraid to seek change or make the hard decisions. We live in uncertain times and people are looking for a hero. Tierney is that hero."

"Not Harry Potter?" asked Sonya.

"Harry is a seventeen year old student, Sonya. We can do better than that."

Beside him, Ginny stiffened. Draco glanced over to see Harry casting an odd look at the radio before giving a rueful laugh.

"I would have killed for someone to say that years ago," he said.

"And now?" asked Draco, catching the unspoken words.

Harry shrugged. "A little support never hurt anyone. I don't want an army of devotees, but a 'good luck' would be appreciated."

Back at the debate, Sonya had asked Peter what, in the public's mind at lease, set Tierney apart from the other candidates.

"He's different," said Peter. "He smiles, he waves, and he shakes hands like the rest, but there's a certain power about him, an edge that says he's not a man to be trifled with. The public want a Minister who won't allow this fine country to fall apart, who won't let the government be run by power-seeking bureaucrats."

"So he's a dangerous man," said Sonya.

"Dangerous? No, not at all. Osmond is a kind man, but he simply is ready to fight for England, so that the people are not fighting alone."

"Thank you so much, Peter."

"And thank you, Sonya."

"So there you have it, Mike. He isn't dangerous, but he won't back down from a fight. He has an edge."

"Is that what their calling it nowadays? An edge? Sounds very trendy, and we'll be looking for it in the fashion world this spring. Just remember, as always you heard it first on Apha News. Now, the nominees still have two questions to answer, and while no one gets to see the questions beforehand, it is expected that at least one will deal with the Min-,"

Mike cut off because there was a muted, but still very audible, scream from somewhere in the audience. The scream was followed by another and another until what had been muffled crowd noises, the babble of words, the occasional thump of a chair, and a few coughs, turned into the sounds of terror.

Draco sat forward and Mrs. Weasley put down her knitting. Ron leaned over to turn the radio up.

"There appears to be some commotion down in the audience," Mike narrated. "I'm in the press balcony looking down at the auditorium, and it's a madhouse. People are trying to run, but it's too crowded, and the aisles are blocked. There's screaming and, whoa, now I see spells being used. I'm not quite sure what that is, but – Merlin's balls!

"Listeners, there are Dementors in the room, I can see them floating in now, and it's freezing in here, absolutely freezing, and…and it's terrible. So terrible. It's hard to think with all this cold. There are so many of them, there's a pain in my chest and in my head.

"Aurors are coming, I can see them trying to run in, but there's so many people trying to get out, and there aren't many Aurors on sight. They are casting the Patronus charm, but I can't see any clear forms. There are too many Dementors, and it's too cold, too dark in here to think of any happy memory. I can't of anything worth smiling about, and I'm on the balcony above this all.

"The Aurors are being mobbed with people. They're trying to clear the room, but it's pure mayhem, and chaos. It looks like the Dementors have all but one door surrounded. People are running every direction, and pushing and casting spells, trying to get out.

"I can see some people collapsing, the ones that are closest to the Dementors. The Dementors haven't started sucking souls but I can see people holding their heads and you can hear their screams. It looks to be some sort of new attack. More and more people are falling. An Auror is down as well! The Dementors are approaching some of the fallen men. I can see them pulling back their hoods. Is there no one else to help? Where is the back up? Where is-

"Sweet Merlin, look at that! Listeners, I'm a radio host, and I'm used to describing a lot of things, but this…this is nothing short of miraculous. Osmond Tierney has set off the greatest Patronus charm I have ever seen! It's a griffin, a massive, strong griffin, and it's running the length of the room, and now it's leaping at the Dementors. Its teeth look to be the size of my arm. This is a fantastic piece of wizardry!

"The Dementors are fleeing, I can see them speeding away. The griffin is rounding the room again. I don't know where the Dementors going, but they're out of the room, and now the Patronus has gone as well. People are cheering and applauding. The last Dementor just left. People are tending to the fallen men and women, calling for help. Here comes the Auror squad now. They're pushing through, and I can see emergency medi-wizards and witches arriving as well.

"Listeners, I think that this attack is over. I'm not quite sure why the Dementors attacked, or for what reason, but the worst is over. I'm going to go downstairs and see if I can't get any information from the Aurors. Stay tuned, Listeners, and I'll tell you all I know."

The station began playing advertisements and Mrs. Weasley switched the machine off. Her face was pale.

"I'm sure dad is fine," said Ron. "Dumbledore was with him."

"It was a Death Eater attack, wasn't it?" asked Harry.

"Of course it was," said Draco. "Osmond Tierney came out as a hero. It must have been planned." And then there was the fact that there was something very off about the whole attack, and Draco was sure he wasn't just feeling that because Tierney's Patronus was a griffin of all things.

"Can't we prove that Tierney was in on it then?" asked Ron.

"I doubt it," said Draco.

"So, that's it?" asked Harry. "He planned the attack and he gets labeled as the hero?"

"I could do some asking around," said Draco, "but I think the only people who would know of the relationship between Tierney and the Dark Lord would be those of questionable reputations. Bringing Tierney down would have to be an inside job."

Draco wondered if Percy and the Civis Arma would be up to the task. They were recently formed, and an eclectic collection of Ministry officials, but it sounded like they would be effective. He decided to stop by Percy's study later, and see if they needed any ideas. His father had murdered a Minister; Draco would like to depose of his own.

Mrs. Weasley turned the radio back on after a few minutes, but all the news Mike had gathered was that those who had fallen in the attack were subjected to a concentrated focus of the Dementors, a new trick they had apparently mastered, and would make a full recovery after rest and observation.

Fred and George arrived at the house a few minutes after the broadcast.

"Any news from dad?" they asked simultaneously.

"Not yet," said Mrs. Weasley.

The family and Harry, who was practically adopted, got more and more anxious by the minute. Sirius finally got up, jerking his head for Draco to follow, and went into the kitchen to make some tea and lunch in order to distract the family. Draco wasn't exactly adept in the kitchen, but sandwiches were simple and hard to mess up. He rather thought Sirius had made enough for a family twice the size of the Weasleys, and because the red-heads were simply picking at their food, most of the food sat untouched.

Mr. Weasley arrived halfway through the 'meal', and his children jumped up to greet him before he was halfway out of the fireplace. Fred and George spilled a pitcher of milk in the process and altogether it was a loud, and happy greeting and once the family had ascertained that he had not been hurt, lunch was attacked with a new vigor. It turned out, Sirius had made just the right number of sandwiches.

Mr. Weasley told them all about the attack while they ate, but Mike the radio host had described most of the details. In fact, the only difference between the two tales was that Arthur, being on the ground floor, had been able to see the Dark Mark embellished on the tattered robes of the Dementors.

Dumbledore stepped out of the fireplace when the lunch dishes were being cleared. Everyone drifted back into the dining room to hear the news, but a message dropped out of the Floo right after he did. Because the Order was hidden, only certain owls were able to deliver to the house. The Weasleys had a forwarding system that allowed them to collect the mail delivered to their real home.

Mr. Weasley picked up the letter, frowning at the sender, and he ripped it open. He paled and Mrs. Weasley immediately crossed over to read it over his shoulder. She paled just as rapidly. 

The end of the letter seemed to encourage them, and it was easy to hypothesize what must have happened. Sure enough, Mr. Weasley motioned his children closer.

"We've received a letter from St. Mungos. Percy was hospitalized after the Dementor attack. He's fine, but he'll stay under supervision for the rest of the day."

"What happened?" asked Charlie.

Mr. Weasley shrugged. "Several people collapsed during the attack. The Aurors think that it must be a new sort of attack, and that Dementors are focusing their presence on one person at a time with a debilitating effect. The hospital says everyone is recovering slowly, but with no long term effects."

"So he's fine," said Fred.

"What's the big deal?" asked George.

Mr. Weasley looked over to his wife who spoke up.

"I'm going to see him," she said. "And your father is as well. We would like all of you to come with us."

Fred and George took on identical looks of distaste.

"I'll go," said Charlie.

"Was he asking for us?" asked Fred.

"Well, no," said Arthur.

"So why are we going?" asked George.

"He's your brother," said Mrs. Weasley. "He shouldn't have to ask."

"It didn't sound like he wanted to be our brother the last family get together we had," Ron muttered.

"And we are going to show him that family is more important to us than politics," said Mrs. Weasley firmly.

"Even when he's siding with a Death Eater?" asked Ron.

"But Percy is not a Death Eater," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Might as well be one," Fred whispered to George, but loudly.

"Fred!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley.

"Boys," said Mr. Weasley. "It's the holiday season. You don't have to debate politics with him, or even talk to him, but your mother wants you to see him, so I don't want any complaining, is that understood?"

A few disgruntled nods.

"He hasn't seen Lukas yet," said Bill, burping Lukas over his shoulder. "I bet he'll like seeing his nephew." Lukas spat up half of the bottle of milk he had just gulped down.

Draco saw Ginny to the door about twenty minutes later. Mr. Weasley had called a magical taxi, but Fred and George were causing a bit of a hold up.

"You alright with seeing Percy?" he asked, helping her into her coat.

"I guess," said Ginny. "I mean, he is a prat most of the time, but I don't think…I think maybe things went a little far the last time he talked with mum and dad."

Draco opened the door for her when the taxi honked its horn. Fred and George were still finding their shoes in their room, or so they said. They were obviously dragging their feet in the hopes their parents would leave without them.

Ginny explained further as she skipped down the front steps. Draco followed her to the curb, the bitter wind whipping through his thin button-up shirt and causing him to shiver.

"Mum's the one with the temper, but Dad holds a grudge like a hippogriff. And politics are important to him. And Percy always saw more shades of grey than he did. And then there was the whole Dumbledore debate."

Draco nodded. He had surmised as much from his brief meeting with Percy.

"Anyway," said Ginny, "it made a lot of things strained, even when he had moved out. Whenever he used to visit, Fred and George would do everything to get under his skin, they picked on him even when they were younger, and Ron would ignore him because Percy's bosses haven't always said the nicest things about Harry. He eventually stopped coming by altogether."

"How long has it been since you've seen him?" asked Draco.

"Over a year," said Ginny. "Last year he was on call for the Minister and couldn't make it to Christmas. He sent presents though, but this year, nothing so much as a card."

She let out a sigh and ran a hand through her hair which was getting whipped about her face by the wind. Her cheeks were pink from the wind, and she looked incredible, even with a worried frown, but she shivered and so Draco pulled open the car door for her.

"Good luck," he said.

She kissed him on the cheek. "Get inside before you catch a cold."

He smirked and leaned in for a real kiss. She was becoming more addictive than a dose of Angel Flight, but she was infinitely better for him. He just didn't know how good he was for her.

"Oi! I'm right here!" said Ron from the car.

Draco pulled away, because not only was Ron there, but her parents as well.

"See you soon," he said.

He passed Fred and George on his way in and found Harry pulling on his shoes.

"Me and Sirius are picking up Hermione from the station," he said. "Wanna come?"

"There are things more painful," Draco allowed, "but that doesn't mean I'd purposely subject myself to them."

He walked by to his study.

"There are people more unfriendly," Harry called after him, "but all of them are in St. Mungo's for spell damage."

Draco half-turned. "A witty rejoinder after only seven seconds. You're improving Potter."

"All thanks to you," said Harry.

Draco inclined his head and entered his study. He had hoped to have some time to himself so he could create a knife like Salazar's without interruptions or questions. Now was perfect.

He had gone to a non-magical antique weapon store right after his study session in Dumbledore's office and picked up a blade similar to Salazar's just for this opportunity. The knife was approximately the same size, and far more decorous and expensive than he actually needed, but he thought it was fitting. The blade was decorated with engraved flames, and the cross guard was a dragon's head. The hilt was the thin body, the perfect width for his grip, and the pommel was the dragon's tail. The accents were genuine ruby.

The knife had been made in the sixteenth century for a Muggle lord Draco was not familiar with, but then again, non-magical history had never been a strong suit of his, not unless the history directly affected the wizarding world. He would have to read up on the subject when he had spare time, which meant he would get to it when he was fifty-three, with the rate his projects were going.

Draco laid the knife on the table and took out his notes and the journal Harry had given him. It really was fortunate that Harry and Hermione had rigged the journal to 'speak' the Parseltongue language when he selected a word.

Next he got a small bowl and rolled up his right sleeve. Using the dragon knife, he made a quick, shallow cut on his wrist and held the bleeding wound over the bowl. He didn't need a lot of blood, just enough to cover the blade so he could begin warding the weapon. This sort of 'grey' magic always involved blood.

When he had enough, he cast a quick charm to stop the bleeding, and then used a handkerchief to spread his blood liberally over the blade. When the polished surface was stained red, he opened the journal and pointed his wand at the first word of the spells he needed. The recorded snake hisses filled the air with each motion of his wand.

The first was a sustaining spell, to insure the knife's upkeep and so the blade would never become dull. The next was a bonding spell, which included several ownership rites. Salazar's knife was his by default. Once the Founder had passed, the knife would need a new master. There may had been several since Slytherin, but when it fell into the Dark Lord's hand, it was once again without ownership. Draco's blood had been the first to cover the blade, but he still wanted his own, one that he had created himself.

He added an invisibility spell, which also involved some special displacement charms which would prevent it from being found by touch. Several other wards were put in place, ones that would allow him to locate the knife with a spell, or call it to his person, and others that enabled the knife to be used for different purposes, to break through barriers, to puncture through even the strongest of metals, and, like Salazar's knife, for torture.

Just hearing the Parseltongue words spoken, and holding the finished knife in his hand, made the scar on his left arm throb in memory. He was quick to put the blade down as soon as the spells were completely, and his right hand grasped his left arm. He rubbed at the scar, hoping to remove the hollow ache, but the oddly cold pain persisted.

It was only natural for his arm to hurt. Even with magical spells and potions, it was a serious injury and only a month old. Still, the ache unnerved him. He put both knives away and, feeling the need to distance himself further, he took one of the books he had received as a Christmas gift and left to the living room. He sat down by the fire, leaning against an armchair, and began to read.

He had spent, at most, half an hour on the knife, and he only managed to read the first chapter of the book before the front door opened and Sirius, Harry, and Hermione walked in. They were talking, and laughing, and then the fireplace flared and the Weasley family appeared, one by one. They were much more subdued, and Fred and George were muttering to each other and immediately Apparated off to their shop.

"Everything okay?" Sirius asked.

"Just fine," said Mrs. Weasley, forcing a smile. "Hermione, how are you dear? You must be exhausted after such a trip. Come sit down and I'll make you a cup of tea. Are you hungry? I can whip you up some lunch."

"Oh, no," said Hermione. "I'm-," she stopped because Ron stepped on her foot. "Some tea would be lovely," she amended, and Mrs. Weasley rushed off to the kitchen to busy herself.

Draco looked to Bill, noting the tightness around his mouth and the way he was holding Lukas close, running a comforting hand over the baby's back when Bill looked like he needed the comfort.

"Fleur's still at her office," said Bill to his father. "I told her I would bring Lukas by."

Arthur nodded and then Bill turned to Draco. He gave a quick upturn of the lips at Draco's raised eyebrow.

Draco looked to Ginny next. She was sitting by Hermione now, talking to the other girl, but she didn't look quite as excited as she had been that morning, when she had informed Draco that having Hermione around was a necessity for staying sane in a house full of teenaged boys.

As Draco watched, Ginny smiled and then got up.

"I'm going to run up and put a jumper on," she said. She walked by Draco, making eye contact for a split second before she reached the stairs and lightly ran up the steps. Draco glanced to Bill who jerked his head up. Draco took the hint and followed his girlfriend.

Ginny was in her room. The door wasn't shut all the way, and he could see her lying on her bed, one hand in her hair. He knocked.

She started a bit, and looked over to see him. He came in, the door flying open and plastering itself to the other wall. Draco waved his wand, nullifying the spell, and shut the door silently. Ginny sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Draco thought he should say something, and he ran through a few questions or platitudes in his head, but all of them seemed to be somehow inadequate. He rocked back on his heels in a rare moment of uncertainty.

"I'm sorry," he decided on.

"For what?" asked Ginny.

Draco shrugged a shoulder. "That it didn't go well."

"It's not your fault."

Well, he could have told her that Percy was working with a top secret Ministry team and fighting the same war she was, but couldn't tell his family for protection and security reasons, but he didn't. It would risk too much, and it wasn't his place.

"I'm sorry you're hurt," he said.

She gave a sad smile. "I'll be okay," she said. She let out a breath and stood up. "I should get back down," she said, and started to walk past. He could see that she wasn't okay, not right now. Her shoulders were hunched, just slightly, like she was trying to prepare herself for injury, and she was tensed. She obviously didn't want to talk though. That was okay; Draco wasn't the best of conversationalists in times of emotional pain.

He reached out, gently grabbing her hand and stopping her. He wasn't quite sure what to do next, but afraid he would over think it, he did what felt right. He gave her hand a tug and she stepped forward. She raised her arms to wrap around his neck and his arms went naturally around her waist. She rested her head on his shoulder and he could feel the ghost of breath as she sighed.

She didn't cry. Percy's 'betrayal' of the family was an old wound, but it appeared today had caused old memories and hurt to resurface.

He rubbed her back and they stood in silence for a few moments. She sighed again.

"This is nice," she mumbled into his shoulder. She took a breath in. "And you smell nice too."

Draco's lips quirked at that. Ginny pulled back and smiled. She still looked sad, and a bit resigned, but calmer, determined.

"Thank you," she said.

While Ginny seemed to regain her kilter in an hour or so, the dynamic of the Weasley family was dampened. By that evening, the unpleasantness of the meeting with Percy seemed to be pushed aside, but a new tension emerged with the media's portrayal of Osmond Tierney, hero of the hour.

Dumbledore called an Order meeting after dinner, and once again, Mrs. Weasley made a dessert to keep mouths full. It didn't help when the Order learned that Snape had been aware of the dealings with the Dementors for several weeks now.

"You what?" Mrs. Weasley demanded sharply.

"I was informed by the Dark Lord that negotiations with the Dementors had begun, and that he was helping them develop a new form of attack," said the Potions Master.

"You knew that there was going to be a Dementor attack and did nothing?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"Of course not," said Severus. "By the information, I suspected there would be a Dementor attack and did nothing."

"Which is not true," said Dumbledore. "He told me, but together we decided that it would be best not to act on this information. It was apparent, by the information he was able to retrieve, that the Dementors' new defense was not fatal, and that Tierney would be playing a role in the battle as well. In order to be elected, Tierney would have to look a hero, and so we suspected there would be no casualties. We cannot ambush every plan of which Severus bravely informs us. He would clearly be spotted as a spy then."

"But this is clearly a moment to act on the information," said Mr. Weasley. "If Osmond Tierney gets into office, it would give Voldemort the freedom he needs to gather more supporters and to eliminate those who would be our greatest defense against him."

"It would be hard to prove that Osmond Tierney was in league with Voldemort during this attack. I'm afraid there is not much we can do, legally, to prevent Tierney's election," Dumbledore countered. "Of course, Voldemort must know that we have members on the Auror task force, and so we can be privy of any information that comes to them, but I doubt there will be enough evidence to point to a Tierney/Death Eater alliance."

It was a dismal fact, but true. Draco really would have to check in with Percy to see if the Civis Arma had any information, but not just yet. He wanted to look over the Auror report first.

The election was to be held the next day, on New Years Eve, or rather, that's when the ballots would be cast. At midnight, the counting would begin, and shortly after (perhaps ten minutes) the winning candidate would be informed. Then the new Minister would meet with the staff and Heads of Departments, and that morning, around eight or nine, give an acceptance speech.

Right now, it was all out of his hands, and because there wasn't anything he could do, Draco didn't think on the election except to guess the number of votes for each nominee.

He pushed all of his projects and plans out of his head when he took Ginny out on New Year's Eve. It was becoming easier to do around her, which was slight terrifying when he let himself think about it. She wasn't helping any, not looking like that.

She had her hair down today, falling in gorgeous curls to the middle of her back. Her dress was copper-colored and shimmery, and it played a perfect complement to her complexion and eyes.

Their outfits didn't match at all. She was a vision in vibrant jewel tones, the copper dress, jasper eyes, ivory skin, and in the dim candlelight, her hair shone deep ruby with sparks of gold. Draco was a study of monochrome, black trousers, white oxford, grey waistcoat and eyes. Their outfits very nearly clashed, when usually the girls he was with wanted to proclaim their conquest to the world by following similar color schemes. Ginny wore what she liked, and she didn't even ask to know what he was wearing.

Draco had taken her to Stella's, a small, but elegant, Italian restaurant. It was unpopular among the flashy elitists, who lived to display their wealth to the world, because while expensive, Stella's was still affordable to the middle class on special occasions. Ginny appeared much more comfortable here than when she had joined him at the Triad. Part of that must have been because of Lucius, but he knew some of it was because of the opulence of the Triad and its patrons.

The guests at Stella's right now seemed to be couples celebrating the New Year. A few gifts were given, and a few tears shed, but there were no shouted declarations of love or loud toasts. The conversations were quite, the room was sedate, the atmosphere was calm and intimate.

Only one table in the far corner seemed to be different. It was occupied by a dark haired man in a conservative suit and a blonde woman in a simple black dress. They were hardly making eye contact and their postures were stiff. Draco wondered if they had been set up on a blind date.

"You know," said Ginny, drawing his attention back to their own table, "if you're going to make it a habit of taking me out to the really expensive restaurants, I'm going to have to take a course in Italian, and maybe French for good measure." She put her menu down, unable to read the meal descriptions.

"I could just teach you a few good translating charms," Draco offered.

"Well, until I'm allowed to use them, how about you tell me what I'm going to like?"

"So I'm a mind-reader as well, now?" asked Draco.

"Genius, mindreader, it's all the same," said Ginny.

Draco quirked his lips and explained a few dishes he thought she might enjoy. He would never dare order for her; he doubted she would let him.

Service was prompt, but it still took half an hour for their meal to arrive. At Stella's no shortcuts were taken to make a marvelous meal.

"It's beautiful here," said Ginny, after they gave their order.

"One of my favorites," said Draco.

"I bet you took a lot of girls here," she teased.

"Not here," said Draco. "It's too nondescript for their tastes."

"Nondescript has its uses," said Ginny. "I can't imagine having a conversation of any worth while half of the world listens in."

"There was no conversation with them," said Draco.

Ginny laughed a little, but then she grew serious. She took a sip of her water. Her parents had let her go out tonight with him under the stipulations that none of them would drink. Draco had given his word easily. He had never been much of a social drinker, and with Ginny there was no need to drink. She was beautiful and smart and funny. She never bored him, but right now, Draco almost wished she would. He knew where she would take this next, and she had a right to do so, but all the same…

"How many other girls were there?" she asked, setting her glass down gently.

She was direct, forward. She also looked prepared, ready to hear the worst.

"How many girls did I date, or how many did I have sex with?" asked Draco. If she wasn't going to waste words, he was either.

"How many girls did you sleep with?" she rephrased. Apparently she was prudish enough not to use the word 'sex'. Or maybe she was just averse to it in public.

"Would you be more shocked if I said fifteen or five?" Draco asked.

"Draco, not right now."

"I just want to know what you think of me," he said with a shrug.

"But I don't want to think of you as anything until I know the number. Don't make me prejudge you just so you can get offended when I believe the worst because of your own representation."

Draco nodded. "Four," he said.

She was surprised. "Four," she repeated.

"Pansy Parkinson, off and on since I was fifteen. Katerina Ancorff, one night, spring fifth year. Allete Pierpont, one week, summer before sixth year. Therese Lawrence, sixth year, after the Yule ball."

"How long since…?"

"Pansy. You were there after."

"Do you like her?"

"Yes."

"Would you have sex with her again?"

"Not when I'm seeing you."

"Do you mean that in all honesty?"

"Lucius has never taken on a mistress, not even when Narcissa broke her vows."

"And you're the same."

"Completely."

Ginny nodded. "Thank you."

"Is that it?" Draco asked in surprise.

"Well, yeah. I mean, there'd be more questions if you said fifteen, like why can't you keep it in your pants, but four is…,"

"I'm seventeen," said Draco. "If I was twenty, I could understand the concern."

"From the rumors I should have thought you'd bedded the entire Slytherin population, and half of the Ravenclaws."

"Not bedded. Snogged, maybe, with a lot of groping, but only the pretty older ones."

"Have all of them been older than you?"

"Yes."

"Which one did you like the best?"

Draco frowned. "Most girls don't want to hear about past experiences."

"Call me abnormal. Besides, I'm the only girl you've actually talked to, so I'm feeling rather secure."

"You don't get jealous easily, do you?"

"Not really. I mean, if Pansy walked up to you right now and kissed you, I'd be angry, but jealous, not so much."

It was surprising. The Dark Lord was extremely possessive. He would sooner see a follower dead than turned, sooner destroy a fort than let it fall. If it was not his, it would not belong to anyone. Ginny, though, Ginny was far too empathetic to fly into a jealous rage. She would be hurt, but she would seek to understand before she condemned.

"So," said Ginny. "Who did you like best?"

"Allete Pierpont. Short, blonde, curvy. Sweet girl, art student." And, now that he thought about it, "She's a lot like you, just quieter. Smoker, though."

"Flattered," said Ginny.

"And you?" asked Draco. "Any exes I should be worried about?" Maybe her school-long crush on Harry Potter?

"No," said Ginny. "I like hanging around guys. I think I get along with them better, and it's led to a lot of dates, but nothing serious. Dean Thomas was my longest relationship, three months."

"What about Potter?" He didn't want to ask, but he had to know.

"My first crush," said Ginny. "I think he's more of a brother now. I couldn't see myself falling in love with him."

Draco couldn't see it as well, but he wanted to know that she saw it. People sometimes were blinded when it came to matters of emotion. He wanted to know that she wasn't going to pursue him.

The rest of their conversation was decidedly more pleasant, and he was actually glad she had asked. He didn't want her to be too afraid to ask, or suspect the worst. Emotional unavailability had kept him from doing more than fooling around with the girls who would occasionally attach themselves to his side, and while four may have been more than the average teenage boy, it was nowhere near the numbers Draco had heard connected to his name.

By dessert, any amount of discomfort he felt admitting his sexual history to Ginny, whom he already knew had nothing more than a few heated make-out sessions with Dean (he did indeed keep up with school gossip), had dissipated.

They took the Floo to the Symphony, arriving fifteen minutes before the start of the concert. It was a surprise to him that the entire auditorium was full. He felt sure that a good number of people would be absent, because of the Minister's death and the recent attack. It was, however, New Years Eve, and so perhaps the holiday gave people an excuse to forget about their troubles for awhile.

Draco had reserved a box seat. With the way the auditorium was built, and the charms around incorporated into the building, there wasn't any need to fear an echo in any seat of the house, and he wasn't in the mood to sit right next to another person and have his conversation overheard.

"It's beautiful in here," said Ginny, peering out over the banister on their tiny balcony. "And look at all the people. Oh, that's Sienna Starlight, and there's Don Marlow. And the entire band of Sphinx."

It was an odd collection of musicians that she pointed out. Sienna Starlight was a pop singer, Don Marlow was a jazz musician, and Sphinx was a heavy metal band. He had no doubt that with her family she was introduced to many genres of music.

"All three nominees for Minister are here," she reported. "And a whole lot of reporters, and-," she cut off, glimpsing someone that made her pull back from the railing.

Draco peered forward, even though Ginny grabbed his arm. "It's nothing," she said.

But Draco had already spotted the long, white-blond hair. Lucius Malfoy was speaking to a few members of the French delegation towards the back of the auditorium. Draco glanced over towards the stage and saw that a choice seat, three rows back and next to the aisle, was open. The others occupying that row were all business associates of his father.

He felt relieved. This must simply be a coincidence then. Lucius was out with his business friends, no doubt gleaning information on which companies he should drop and which ones he should invest in just a bit more. He glanced back to his father and then swore in his head.

Lucius was speaking with a man with dark hair, dressed unobtrusively in a conservative suit. Draco recognized him from the restaurant.

The man in black nodded his head and slipped out of the auditorium. Draco pulled back before Lucius could catch his gaze.

"You okay?" asked Ginny.

"The man he was just speaking to," said Draco. "He was at Stella's as well."

Ginny frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." He looked over to see that she looked stricken, so he leaned forward and touched her hand.

"He's not going to do anything here," he reassured her. "In fact, I don't think he's going to do anything at all. He's just keeping tabs, and if I know that he is, all the better for him. It's a power play."

"You don't think…you don't think he's planning something, do you?" asked Ginny.

Draco shook his head. His father had just murdered the Minister of Magic, and Lucius always had an odd sort of business plan. Horrible acts were usually followed by deeds that could almost be labeled as charity.

"Maybe if I started to defame the Malfoy name," he said. "Right now, he just wants to see what I'm doing."

"And who you're doing?" Ginny asked, affecting a mock-seductive look. Her blunt word choice and lascivious glance startled a smile out of him.

"You know, I did promise your parents that I would be a perfect gentleman," said Draco.

"Did you really?"

"Well, the threat if I didn't was largely unspoken, but no less terrifying."

Ginny smiled. "My parents aren't terrifying."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe sometimes," she allowed.

The lights dimmed and, on stage behind the curtain, the sound of an orchestra tuning became apparent.

They both turned towards the stage.

o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o

Percy woke up to the quiet, muffled sounds of footsteps and a low, almost soothing humming. He opened his eyes, not quite surprised to see that he was in a hospital bed because the last thing he remembered was seeing a dementor staring (or facing, since he couldn't see any eyes) right at him. There had been a freezing hand that entered his mind, and pain, and a nightmare. He saw his family die. They died hating him, cursing him. And then there had only been the cold that froze him from the inside out.

The humming was coming from the machine behind him on the wall, monitoring his magical signature, which was the surest indicator of any health troubles. Percy pushed himself up a little ways and looked about him.

He was in a private room, which again, wasn't really a surprise. He was the Assistant to the Minister after all, and Assistants weren't easily replaced, especially on short notice. He had never been in a private hospital room before though, and it was actually, dare he think it, pleasant. The walls were a soft yellow and there was actually carpet on the floor. It was a stiff, deep blue carpet that was obviously spelled to be stain resistant, but it was carpet none-the-less. There was a window on the left, charmed with a sunny, picturesque view, and the door across from him was closed and did a fairly good job of keeping the other hospital sounds down to a whisper.

The door opened as he was studying it, and a Healer wheeled in a cart.

"Been waiting for you to wake up, Assistant," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"Bit groggy," said Percy. "Headache."

"How bad?"

"Manageable."

"Pounding, throbbing, shooting pains?"

"Pounding."

"I've just the thing."

He was handed a vial of blue potion, which he downed, and almost immediately the pain lessened.

"Are you feeling cold?"

"A little chilled." Actually, he felt down-right cold. His fingers felt stiff and it was hard to bend them, and he was sure his feet were solid bricks of ice.

The Healer checked the warmth spell charm posted on the door.

"It's already well above room temperature in here," she said. "In fact, normally in this weather I'd been at the coast swimming."

"You're kidding," said Percy. He could distinctly feel a cool draft on his face and hands and he could feel the cold air seep through the blankets.

"Afraid not, but it seems to be a common complaint from the other patients as well."

"How many were affected?"

"Twenty-six counting you. Everyone's recovering fine though. Here."

The Healer pulled another blanket from a cabinet in the corner and draped it over his legs. Percy pulled it up to mid-chest. The Healer then poured a cup of hot chocolate from a carafe on the cart and handed that over as well.

"Sip that, and you'll start getting warmed up in no time."

Percy obliged. The drink was at a perfect temperature and was the richest chocolate he had ever tasted. It was soothing, and he tuned out the Healer's bustling as she checked his vital signs on the monitor, took his temperature, and jotted down notes on a clipboard.

"Are you feeling up to a visitor?" the Healer asked.

Percy looked up from his cup and nodded.

"I'll go get him," she said and quickly exited the room. Percy tried to sit up further, and wondered if he looked as cold and miserable as he looked. From the expression on John Kelly's face, he did.

The Healer poured him another cup of hot chocolate and then respectfully left the room. Percy let John pull over a chair and then activate a silence ward around the room before he spoke.

"What happened?"

He remembered the debate, of course, but the attack was mostly hazy. He couldn't help but think there was something he should remember. Something that had caught his attention, made him…made him what? Concerned? Relieved? He couldn't remember and his head hurt when he tried to press any further.

"Well, you were there for the Dementors. Turns out over half of them attacked, wearing the Dark Mark on their robes, and we don't know where they are now," said John grimly.

"Shit," said Percy.

"They took out nearly thirty people with their focused attacks, but they never stooped in for the Kiss. After you went down, Osmond Tierney let loose a Patronus the size of a dragon. A griffin. The Dementors fled, the Aurors arrived, and the media's been in a frenzy ever since."

Percy blinked. "Tierney?" he asked.

John nodded. "The Dementor assault was obviously planned by the Death Eaters."

"And Tierney is unstable, we know that. I could think of several reasons why a certain madman would want Tierney in office. With Tierney playing the hero, he just won the election."

"I'm looking over the Auror report," said John. "If there's any way to get him out of office, I'll find it, but linking him to this fiasco is going to be close to impossible."

"And Tierney in office means that he's going to find some way to endanger a lot of people," said Percy. "It will be harder to counter his actions."

"And now we'll have to start skimming for our budget again."

"Shit, the budget," said Percy, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Tierney was a genius in finance. I'll have to go through and make sure he can't spot any of the differences."

John made a commiserating face, and stood. "I'm needed back at the Cabinet, but you rest up. I'll tell everyone else that you're doing okay. They'd like to visit themselves, but…,"

"But it's better if we don't associate in public," said Percy. "I know. Could you do me a favor, though?"

"Anything," said John.

"I need my briefcase."

"I think you need some sleep," said John.

"I was behind on work before the attack," said Percy. "And now I'll need to release a statement to the press saying that Tierney's actions, while commendable, will not be playing a part in the election. I'll also have to tighten security on the acceptance speech, and redo a certain budget. Not to mention liaise with the Aurors and get their official report before they release it."

"I still think you need to rest," said John. "Overworking yourself isn't going to help anyone."

"I'm in bed, John, and drinking hot chocolate. Believe me, I would love to get my work done here, where I won't be interrupted."

"Alright. I'll send it over."

"Thanks."

"Get better."

John left and Percy closed his eyes. He had learned never to waste the time he could use to sleep. As Assistant, he was never quite sure when he would next get a full night of sleep.

A trainee brought in his work half an hour later. Percy thanked him, was given another mug of hot chocolate, because he still wasn't getting any warmer, and grabbed his glasses from the bedside table.

He was farsighted, and only needed the glasses to see fine print, so they were charmed to only trigger when he read or wrote. He wore them nearly constantly because he felt his red hair was a bit too ridiculous, and the glasses gave him a more scholarly look.

The quiet of the hospital was extremely conducive to getting his paper work done. He was nearly done with sending letters to all of the Governors reminding them that Tierney's actions were not to count for him in the election, a standard Ministry disclaimer, when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," said Percy, not looking up from his papers. He could see the same trainee in his peripheral vision. "Yes?" Percy asked.

"You have a few more visitors," the medical student said. "Are you feeling up to a visit?"

Percy lowered the papers, frowning. Visitors? Shouldn't they know it could be incriminating to visit?

"Send them in," he said.

The trainee stepped aside, and then his mother was stepping through the doorway. Percy stared, but then she was exclaiming his name and rushing over to his side.

"Percy, just look at you! What on earth happened?" She lay a blessedly warm hand on his forehead. "Dear Merlin, you're positively half-frozen! Where are the Healers? You shouldn't be this cold still. Are you feeling alright? How long are you staying? We were told you were fine, but my goodness, just look at you! Paler than a ghost, you are!"

Percy only half-listened to her. He was too busy staring at the rest of his family. His father was there, with that stern expression on his face, the one he wore whenever he was particularly troubled. Bill was holding a baby, it must be his son, and was forcing a small smile in his direction. Fred and George were glaring. Ron was shifting back and forth on his feet, staring at the ground, and Ginny was hanging in the back. Charlie stepped forward with an affable smile.

"How you feeling, Percy?" he asked, stopping their mother's fussing with that one question.

Percy looked at all of them. They seemed so much older since he had seen them. Even little Ginny, who was looking far too pretty and mature for a sixteen year old. Percy needed to have a new talk with Draco about this whole dating thing.

"I'm okay," he said.

There was silence. It was an uncomfortable, awkward silence.

Percy had bought Christmas presents for his family. He had carefully selected the presents, money not being a problem as he was paid very well, but after wrapping the gifts, he was suddenly afraid that they were inappropriate.

His father had a better job now, but nowhere near his own salary, and it was obvious that the gifts were costly. Would his family read that as an insult? Would they think he was rubbing his job in their faces?

Of course, if he got them cheaper presents then that would say that he didn't care about them.

He was the only one in the Civis Arma with a lot of family nearby, and there was some thought that families could be potential targets, but their secrecy hadn't been compromised just yet, and his family did live in a secure location. Now, with the threat of Tierney becoming Minister, he didn't know if mending the fences was the best idea. Tierney was a paranoid madman. He wouldn't shy away from targeting families if he suspected Percy of plotting against him.

"Did we interrupt your work?" Charlie asked, breaking the silence, despite the fact he was the only one who didn't look uncomfortable.

Percy looked down at the papers strewn across the covers and bedside table.

"Oh, no," he said.

There was another pause.

"Are you liking your job?" asked Charlie.

Percy nodded. "Definitely. It's a lot of work, and a lot of responsibility, but it's rewarding too."

"Rewarding when no one remembers your name?" Fred muttered to George.

Percy shot him a look. They had always found his government career laughable.

"You must have been quite busy with recent activities," said his dad, speaking up for the first time.

Percy nodded. "Minister Fudge was a great man, and his death caused a lot of upheaval, overseas as well as in England. We've been fielding a lot of sympathy calls, but with them comes a lot of pressure to deal with certain threats in our country. I've been in charge of replying while the board waits to elect a Minister."

"You've been speaking with foreign Ministers?" asked his mother, sounding impressed and surprised.

"If the Minister ever has to leave a conference for an emergency elsewhere, it's my job to either finish the meeting or close it and find an easy time to reconvene."

"Oh," said Molly delightedly. "Boys, did you hear that? Your brother has led meetings in place of the Minister!"

Maybe he shouldn't have said that. It sounded like he was bragging now, but he hadn't been able to tell anyone what he was doing for so long. He had no one to celebrate his successes with. The first time he had completed a trade meeting between the French and German Ministers, he had gone back to his flat and opened a bottle of wine by himself.

Fred and George rolled their eyes; Charlie smiled encouragingly.

"And what about Tierney?" asked his father. "What if he became Minister? You wouldn't hold meetings for him, would you?"

"I'm Assistant to the Minister," said Percy. "That is any Minister who is placed in command by the law, regardless of whether or not my family approves of him."

Alright, maybe that had come out a little harshly.

"Even when Tierney is advocating policies that would tear this country apart?" his father challenged. "I've seen his plans, plans that he swears will help this nation, but will tear this country apart and lead to the deaths of innocent civilians."

"This isn't a dictatorship," said Percy. "He cannot pass a law without the approval of the legislators, and if they do pass it, it means they see a problem that they want to fix."

"The problem they see is that people are speaking out against the Ministry who is doing nothing to protect the people because it would mean admitting their failure to warn them when Voldemort returned!"

"The Ministry had no hard evidence at that time that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had arisen. You can't expect them to release a public statement that would spark mass hysteria on the word of a few school children."

"Albus Dumbledore spoke in Harry's defense."

And here the old argument came up.

"Contrary to your popular belief," said Percy, "Albus Dumbledore has his limits, and running the Ministry is not on his list of talents. He is very suited to his school and I would suggest that he stay there instead of running a vigilante organization and subjecting his naïve aspirations on the country."

"Percy, that is quite enough," said his mother sharply. "Albus Dumbledore has been nothing but kind and generous to our family and you owe him your gratitude."

"I owe him?" Percy demanded. "As a student I owed him the respect of a student, but I am no longer a child, and I can see how his good intentions have led so many people into a battle they should not be fighting."

"Not be fighting?" his father all but yelled.

An unfortunate choice of words, and it was too late to stop him now. Arthur Weasley rarely lost his temper, and when he did, it was because of three things. One, Lucius Malfoy. Two, expressions of ingratitude. Three, political beliefs of injustice. Percy, with that statement, had violated the second two. He had only meant to violate the second.

"I only meant-," he started, but his father was already speaking, rapidly, fluidly, and quietly.

"Albus Dumbledore is the only man able to stand against Voldemort. He was the only man who had the courage and ability to counter the Death Eaters during the first war. It was by his example that others joined his cause, and it is by his example that we join him again. Those who stand by and ridicule him now are men who are unable to think of any but their own comfort and gain. They run because they have no desire to see a better world because they are well enough in this one. They ignore the inhumanity because they are no longer human themselves, they are animals, and I regret to say that my son is looking more and more like them every day."

Percy stared at his father in shock, but his father gaze was unmoving. Regretful, yes, but unmoving. He looked to his mother to see that she had that same, sorrowful look on her face.

"Way to go, dad," said Fred quietly, and from George's nod, his twin had said it all.

Bill had to step back, because Lukas was fussing, and Ron was standing next to Ginny who looked like she wanted to cry.

"Not everyone who doesn't agree with you is in the wrong," said Percy.

"We raised you better than this," said his father.

"You raised me better?" Percy asked. "So you have all the answers, is it? I can't deviate from your politics because you are right one hundred percent of the time? The arrogance on you is astounding!"

"Percy!" exclaimed his mother.

"I never said that injustice shouldn't be checked. I objected to the way the battle was fought. The Ministry-,"

"Since when has the Ministry ever responded to the threat of Voldemort?"

"You can't just abandon the government because your way is better, or will end the confrontation sooner. The government is in place to protect human lives."

"But it's not doing its job. And now Tierney will be elected, and then what? The government cannot be upheld when it endangers the citizens it is sworn to protect!"

"There is more to the government than the Minister. Why is my chosen career so much of a problem for you to handle?"

"Because you forget the morals your mother and I raised you with. You leave ethics at the door and play servant to men who have not done their sworn duty."

"Play servant? I am not the lowly hired help kept at the whim of the Minister. I am one of the most powerful men in the Ministry!" Percy couldn't help the last exclamation. Why couldn't they see all that he had done? Why did they continually choose to belittle his accomplishments simply because they did not agree with his political views?

"Power is nothing if you have lost yourself," said his father.

And it was all too much. Not two hours ago he had seen them dead in his dreams, cursing him, damning him. He was freezing, still recovering from the Dementors. He could feel his heart pounding with stress and anger, and instead of causing him to sweat, instead of getting heated, with every beat of his heart, it felt as if his blood was getting colder. It made him strike back. He was still a Weasley and he had his mother's temper.

"And how would you ever know a thing like that?" he asked cruelly. "Why is it, dad, that as soon as I begin rising in the Ministry, you start hounding me? Never a word of praise, never a congratulations. Are you upset that I can do what you never could? Hold a decent job and be able to care for myself?"

His mother gasped.

"That is quite enough," said Arthur quietly.

"No, it's not," said Percy. "All of you hated my career. You praised my good grades, and praised my high aspirations, but the moment I took my job, you only had criticisms and critiques. Are all of you jealous then?"

"You wish," said George. "You're a grade A prat."

"I don't even know why we came to visit," said Fred.

Why had they come to visit? Percy blinked, suddenly realizing that he had taken them off of his emergency contact list when the Civis Arma had started. He hadn't wanted any of them getting involved, and if he ended up in the hospital for whatever reason, conclusions could be drawn.

"Why did you visit then?" he asked. Most everyone in the Ministry knew he wasn't on speaking terms with his family, but maybe someone thought the feud was just a front. Maybe someone (Tierney) wanted to know if he was involved in the Order.

"Because the hospital owled us," said Molly. "We wanted to know if you were alright."

"Waste of an afternoon," said Ron.

"It is," Percy agreed. "I took all of you off of my emergency contact list. You must have received that owl by mistake."

His cold voice had them all staring. Fred and George swore and stalked out of the room. Ron followed, dragging Ginny with him. The twins' loud curses had set Lukas to sobbing and Bill excused himself. Percy dragged his gaze up to his parents.

"You have obviously chosen your path," said Mr. Weasley. "You must know that it is incompatible with my own. The rest of the family may visit you as they please." The unspoken 'but I never will' hung in the air. His father gave him one last look and then turned away.

"Percy, dear," said his mother, a tremor in her voice. "All you have to do is come back." She was pleading with him.

"It's obvious I'm not needed," said Percy.

She had tears in her eyes now, and she stepped up to kiss him on the cheek.

"I won't visit," she said, "I won't go against Arthur in this, but if you ever need anything, you can just owl."

"I've been on my own since Hogwarts. I'm sure I'll be fine."

She nodded and followed her husband out the door. Percy looked over to Charlie who was frowning, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Charlie," he started, but then stopped because he wasn't sure how to finish.

"You must have known what you would do to them," said Charlie, no sign of reproach in his voice, just stating the fact.

"You have to know that I'm not completely wrong on this," said Percy.

"Everyone has some element of truth in their opinion."

"But I'm not turning into some bureaucrat only concerned with power and money. There are issues, I know that, I want to fix them."

"Then mum and dad will see that."

"You aren't going to talk to them?"

"I'm not going to argue someone else's opinion, Perce."

Charlie never did argue. Percy sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"Then just…just go with the rest of them."

Charlie nodded. "Feel better then." He handed over a package he must have been holding the entire time, but Percy hadn't noticed it. "Got you a Christmas present."

He tossed it onto the bed and Percy stared at the gift.

"I got you one too," he said quietly. "It's in my flat, in the closet. I was going to send them out, but…"

"You can give it to me another year," said Charlie. "When everything simmers down again."

Percy nodded. Charlie gave a small smile and left the room.

The present turned out to be an organizing portfolio. The folder was made of black leather, with a small, unobtrusive dragon clasp on the front which would only open for him, insuring confidentiality. There were pockets for schedules and full compartments for legal documents or trade plans. It was charmed to stay slim and lightweight. Charlie always gave dragon-themed presents, and this was the first one Percy might actually use in public.

He didn't get much work done that evening, the fight interfering with his concentration. It also seemed to interfere with his recovery because the Healer frowned when she took his temperature and turned the heat up in the room. They kept him overnight and into the late afternoon of the next day.

Percy didn't mind. He was given a sleep aid that night, and while he dreamed of the attack that night, it wasn't a nightmare; he was simply trying to remember. He still didn't remember in the morning, but he woke up refreshed and ready to push his personal emotions aside. He finished the budget that morning and then prepared for the inevitable, tyrannical reign of Osmond Tierney.

He was present at the casting of the ballots, which was held in the Governor's Hall, a grand room of tiered seating, individual desks of mahogany, and gold fountain pens and ink bottles. He knew, letters from the Ministry or no, Tierney's heroics had cinched him the victory.

The Ballots were cast precisely at 11:30 on New Year's Eve. The Governors wrote down the name they desired and placed it into the election box, a jade container carved with centaurs and stars and supposedly tamper proof. Percy didn't put too much stock in promises of security. Not after the Goblet of Fire. But Tierney didn't need to cheat now.

After all the Governors had put in their vote, Percy followed the Head Judge on the Wizengamot to the Juror's Department along with the Minister's Cabinet and the Chief Auror to count the ballots.

The ballots actually sorted themselves. All the Head Judge had to do was wait for the others to be seated around the table, have Percy officially note the attendance of all necessary persons and start taking the minutes, and open the box.

The ballots flew out into neatly organized piles. There were seventy Governors in total. Three piles formed on the table. Two small, one large. The piles then toppled into neat rows. There were five for Rawlings. Eleven for Gallup. Fifty-four were for Tierney.

Percy noted the win on the official paper.

"Osmond Tierney is the new Minister of the Magical Citizens and Territory of England," said the Head Judge.

"Observed and confirmed," the cabinet responded.

"I move to record Osmond Tierney as eighty-third Minister of the Magical Citizens and Territory of England," said Percy.

"As Head Judge of the Wizengamot, I have observed the vote and confirmed his victory. I second the motion."

"As the Chief Auror, sworn protector of the Magical Citizens of England and upholder of Ministry Law, I approve the motion to name Osmond Tierney as Minister."

"The record so reflects," said Percy, writing down Tierney's name on the chronicle of the election.

There was a moment of silence after his quill stopped moving, then the Head Judge clapped twice.

"That's that," he said. "Assistant, you are to inform Osmond Tierney on New Year's Day, 12:01, that he is the new Minister of England. If you'll then escort him up here, I'm sure he would like to meet the cabinet."

"My honor, sir," said Percy. He passed the paper over to be signed by the judge and the Auror and then slipped the page into an envelope and sealed it before sending it to be filed in Archives. It would be opened at eight o'clock that morning, when Tierney gave his acceptance speech to the media and spectators in the Atrium. Percy had been overseeing the set-up all evening.

At five of, he walked over to the private offices in the Judge's Corridor. When it struck twelve, he wished himself a happy New Year. He wondered if his family was having a big party. He fantasized about attending, or attending any party really. Maybe with Helena Greenwich. Now there was a real fantasy…He pulled himself out of his thoughts and checked the clock again. One past. He opened the door.

Osmond Tierney sat in the small office, his feet propped up on the desk. He was twirling a pen through his fingers. He was a tall man, distinguished. The hair at his temples had turned a steel grey while the rest remained jet black. His eyebrows were full, his jaw square. His eyes were dark blue, and right now they were smugly triumphant. He didn't look surprised to see Percy.

"Mr. Minister," said Percy. "Congratulations."

Tierney leapt to his feet, his lips twisting up. He crossed the room to shake Percy's hand. His grip was hard, nearly crushing. Percy smiled through it all.

"The cabinet is waiting to meet you upstairs," said Percy.

"Splendid, splendid," said Tierney, and then pushed ahead to lead the way himself. Percy followed, wondering what damage the new Minister could do within the first ten minutes of his appointment to office. He shouldn't have tempted Fate.

Tierney flung open the door, and only accepted the most perfunctory of congratulations before ordering them all to sit down.

"There will be time for celebrations later," he said. "Right now, I want to get straight to business and deal with something I know has been troubling us all."

The cabinet reluctantly sat down as Tierney stood at the head of the table. Percy sat on the first chair to the new Minister right, and he immediately wished he had more space. From this close, he didn't feel exactly safe.

"Minister Fudge was a great man," Tierney began. "It seems only fitting that my first act as Minister is to identify his murderer and bring him to justice."

Percy blinked, and then looked over to Jonathan Felix, but it was apparent that everyone in the cabinet was just as surprised and confused as he was. He looked back to Tierney who was resting his hands on the back of the chair he should have been sitting in. He was surveying their disbelieving faces with a satisfied smile.

"This is a time of war," said Tierney. "As Minister, that gives me the opportunity to turn to otherwise inaccessible sources of information. At this time, I would ask you to remain calm."

Percy's hand slid from the record and gripped his wand that was stashed in a belt-holster. Only important officials were allowed to carry them, and he could see John Kelly and Jonathan Felix were also freeing their wand hands. The rest of the eight member cabinet looked unnerved, and then Tierney set out a small, glass globe. It was a Portkey Activator.

There was a flash as the person was allowed through the wards on the Ministry. Percy gripped his wand, John Kelly and Samuel Tenny jumped to their feet, and someone else shouted in surprise and maybe a bit of fear.

"Good morning to you all," said Bellatrix Lestrange.

Behind her, Percy could see Osmond Tierney grinning malevolently at them all.

--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o--o

So, what do you think? I told you things were going to start heating up. And, because school is heating up as well, I'll only be updating every two weeks now as I'm swamped. Thanks for understanding. Please leave a review!


	23. New Year's Accusation

Hi

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I would not have to study for a GRE or a psych subject GRE, and the over three hundred dollars I am shelling out would not be so painful. Alas, the college life.

Author's Note: Yeah. I'm a week late. I really am shooting for two weeks, but I'm swamped this semester. As stated above, I've huge exams to study for, along with other insane senior classes, along with applications to fill out for grad school. I'm a bit stressed, you could say. I love writing as a stress reliever, but I've simply no time. Anyway, sorry I won't be replying to reviews, but thanks to everyone.

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The symphony was a huge hit. The orchestra first played the Magician's Symphony to rousing applause, and then there was an intermission. The Magician's Symphony wasn't very long, as there was only one movement, and so there really wasn't any need for a break, but it allowed for concessions to be sold and for the excitement to build. It also allowed the radio stations, who would be airing the premiere live, to get in a few advertisements. During the break, Draco ordered two glass of champagne, non-alcoholic, and together they toasted the evening.

They wandered around the building a bit, because the architecture was quite stunning, and then made it back to the box right as the lights were dimming again. Ginny reached over and squeezed Draco's hand as the conductor walked out once more to applause. Draco didn't let her take her hand back.

The Song of Seraph had been a simple concept when he first started it. He wanted to contrast deep, solid chords with faster, slightly discordant notes, but then he wasn't satisfied until he had been able to integrate the two seamlessly. He knew why Ginny would call it the Song of Seraph. It was a bit like a fire, slow and smoldering, before bursting forth in a glorious, triumphant blaze.

He had great respect for the conductor, Marcus Brady, who was not afraid to expand on the score. If he felt the pianissimo was too quiet for the way his musicians play, he changed it. If he wanted to add a retard on the end for more emphasis, he did. The man was a musical genius, and Draco was never afraid his music would be butchered.

The orchestra played it flawlessly, and when the final note ended with a timpani strike, there was a moment of silence. Then the audience erupted, lunging to their feet and applauding loud enough to rattle the chandeliers on the ceiling.

Draco stood too, cheering the orchestra. Ginny peered over the rail while she clapped and turned to Draco.

"I think you're missing out," she said, speaking close to his ear so he could hear her.

Draco smirked. "Do you want to me run on stage right now?" he asked. "Take a bow or two?"

Ginny shook her head. "Then I would have to share you." She tugged his shirt, tilting her head back for a kiss. Draco wondered if the acceleration of his heart, and the odd warmth in his chest, was anything akin to romance.

They stayed for a short while at the after party. Established composers enthused about the complexity of the piece, popular artists celebrated the emotion, and the rest of the audience described the chills the symphony gave them.

Draco didn't purposefully seek out any company, but a few men and women approached him, usually those who were important officials of the companies he invested in. They were sure to give their best wishes for the next year, and to heap compliments on Ginny.

She handled the attention quite well, shaking their hands firmly, accepting their praise with a simple 'thank you' and then allowing Draco to make what assurances he needed before ending the business talk as soon as possible and moving away.

Draco was also sure to keep an eye out for Lucius. He had no desire to see his father, and whenever a glimpse of pale hair and a cane was spotted, he noticed that Ginny tensed, her hand occasionally rising to her throat.

They were one of the first couples to leave, but the family was having a party back at the Order Headquarters, and Draco didn't think it was polite to monopolize Ginny's time on the holiday. They had only been dating a couple of weeks, and Draco was pretty sure that in normal relationships 'taking it slow' was a vital rule to follow.

The party was warming up when they Flooed back. Kingsley, Tonks, Lupin, and Dumbledore were present, with other Order members due to arrive at their leisure. Upon arrival, everyone burst into applause, having listened to the live broadcast on the radio.

"Absolutely beautiful," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Incredible," said Mr. Weasley.

"It was cool," said Ron, hands in his pockets and looking as if he wasn't quite thrilled.

Draco nodded his thanks anyway.

"Ah, here's our own Beethoven," said Fred, pushing forward.

"Our little Mozart," George agreed.

They both swept low bows and then Fred presented him with a large bouquet of roses. Draco couldn't refuse them, not when the flowers were practically shoved into his hands, but the expectant gleam in their eyes warned him not to do anything more than hold them by the crinkling tissue paper wrapping.

"How long have you been composing, Draco?" asked Dumbledore.

Draco shrugged. "A few years now." He glanced over and then shoved the flowers into Harry's hand. "Here, Potter." He turned back to Dumbledore, making sure to look like he was in the middle of an important conversation. "I didn't have the chance to really pursue music until a few years ago, because so many other things seemed to be more important. Dueling and potions, and such."

From the corner of his eye, he could see Harry still holding the bouquet, looking around for a place to put them. He leaned in to smell them, and then –

"A-CHUH!" Harry sneezed violently, almost coughing as well. Sparkling orange dust shot from his nose and everyone turned to watch. "A-chuh! A-a-cho! A-choo, a-chuh, a-chuh!"

The boy hero couldn't seem to stop sneezing. With each, a new color of dust flew from his nostrils.

"Excellent color scheme, George," said Fred.

"Why thank you, Fred. You were right about the snorgle powder. Quite the linger effect."

"Mm. Too bad Malfoy didn't smell the flowers."

They both looked over at Draco quite accusingly. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"I just wrote a symphony. How obtuse do you think I am?"

"Has a point, Fred," said George.

"I suppose," said Fred.

Harry finally stopped sneezing five minutes later, and them Mrs. Weasley made Fred and George clean up the pile of sparkling, multi-colored dust on the floor.

"It needs something more," Draco heard Fred whispering to George as they directed the powder into a dustpan.

"Not enough flash," George agreed.

Draco didn't get to overhear what ideas they had, because the fireplace flared and Pansy stepped out with a sing-song 'I'm here!' He was startled to see her in a pair of blue jeans. They were ridiculously tight, but her legs were completely covered. Her top was glittering and black and strapless, but it only showed a hint of cleavage. It was flowing as well, not painted on and it covered her entire stomach, falling a few inches past the top of her jeans. It nearly covered her arse, which was displayed very nicely in the jeans.

Draco blinked, and then watched her sashay over to Hermione, right past Charlie. The dragon-keeper watched her pose, obviously for his benefit, with a soft smile.

He raised his eyebrow. Not only was Charlie ignoring the most lewd behavior from Pansy, he must also be ignoring her immodest dress. He hadn't once seen Charlie staring at Pansy's legs, or nearly bare breasts, and he knew how that must frustrate Pansy. In fact, the few times he had seen the two together, he'd noticed how Charlie would pay less attention to the girl when she had less clothes on. Pansy was a Slytherin, yes, but she would do anything for attention from her chosen target, even play right into a Gryffindor's plan.

He watched Charlie get up and walk over to the two girls. He couldn't hear what Charlie said, but Pansy glanced sideways at him and then shrugged. Obviously a compliment then.

Draco left the odd couple to their own devices and walked over to observe the game of chess between Harry and Ron. He was surprised, again, to see that alcohol was involved. The Weasleys drank? The Golden Boy drank?

Harry lost a knight to Ron and took a shot. He coughed, teared up, and put the glass down hastily. Draco was somewhat comforted that at least some things were right in the world.

His world view was shattered again when the drinking increased as the night grew older. The adults constrained themselves to a few glasses of wine, but then Charlie and Bill sat down across the table from each other, both wearing identical expressions of determination.

"It's on, dragon-boy," said Bill.

"Please, you haven't had a decent drinking party for two years. Teaching is soft, Billy."

"And you would like us all to believe that dragon-taming is tough. I've visited your work. You were mucking stalls."

"Oi," said Fred, leaning over the table.

"Less talking, start drinking," said George.

Draco moved to stand beside Ginny just so he could ask "Is this normal?"

"Back when Bill was still curse-breaking, he and Charlie would get in these huge debates to prove who had the tougher job, so yeah, very normal. A tradition you could say."

Draco watched Fred and George set up a line of shots. The bottle they broke open was Beater's Vodka, and then they poured down the row. Bill and Charlie stared at each other, hands twitching until Fred called out, "Go!"

The room cheered the two older Weasley's on. Kingsley had taken a bet with Sirius, and their whoops could be heard over the rest of the clamor. Even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were laughing.

Charlie finished half a glass before Bill, holding up his hands in triumph. Bill congratulated him in a show of good sportsmanship, but when Charlie waved for Fred to refill the glasses, he got up, stumbling a bit.

"Alright, maybe I got a little soft," he said. "But, I am a father now, and so I am going to set a good example and not drink myself into a stupor."

His proclamation, obviously a cop out, was met with jeers and laughter.

"Then it's up to us," said Fred, turning to George.

George nodded. "We could take Charlie."

Before either of them had a chance to challenge their brother, Pansy sat in Bill's vacated seat, raising her eyebrows at Charlie.

"Well?" asked Pansy to Fred and George. "Aren't you going to catch me up?"

The twins stared at the slim Slytherin girl, and Charlie shook his head.

"No way," he said. "I'm twice your weight, maybe more."

"Don't think I can handle it?" asked Pansy.

"No, I don't," said Charlie. "If you really want to try me, I'd say right from here is fine."

Pansy smiled, slowly. "You are going to regret that, _Charles_."

The twins poured another line of shots for each of them. Draco saw Sirius trying to cajole Kingsley into another bet, but the Auror wasn't taking it, thinking Charlie was the clear winner. He smirked. They had never been to a Slytherin party before.

"One, two, three, GO!" the twins called.

Charlie started downing shots hastily, slamming them back to the table, but Pansy was keeping pace with every shot he took. They pounded their last empty glass down together, each eyeing the other, waiting for the massive intake of alcohol to set in. Pansy giggled first, but it was clear that she still had most of her wits about her.

Charlie, on the other hand, was looking decidedly glassy-eyed. He tried to play it off.

"Not bad," he said, careful to annunciate well.

"Not bad?" Pansy asked. "You're about to pass out."

"Am not," said Charlie.

"Wanna go another then?" she asked wickedly.

"Sure, why not," said Charlie, stubbornly meeting her gaze.

That was when Mr. Weasley stepped in.

"I think that's enough. We allowed you to have your young fun here for safety precautions, but I'm afraid that because there are adults present, we're going to have to stop before the alcohol poisoning starts."

"I'm fine, dad," said Charlie. "Seriously, I can take another."

Mr. Weasley looked as if he was about to object, but to Draco's surprise, Mrs. Weasley stepped over. "Oh, let them, Arthur. You can't get alcohol poisoning off wizarding vodka, you know that. Let them have their fun."

"He'll regret it in the morning."

"And he's twenty-five."

Mr. Weasley relented, raising his hands in the air and backing off. More shots were poured. Charlie made it to the very end, a shot behind, but still looking triumphant. He smiled.

"Have enough?" he asked.

Pansy raised her eyebrows and waited. Charlie turned paler and paler before stumbling to his feet, swallowing convulsively and then making his way, as dignified as possible, to the bathroom.

Pansy stood up, a little wobbly, and took a bow to the cheers of the room.

"Incredible," breathed Fred.

"Un-bloody-believable," said George.

"You boys need to come to a Slytherin party," said Pansy.

"Slytherin parties, huh," mused Fred.

George got a thoughtful look on his face and together the twins turned to Draco.

"Alright, Malfoy," said George, and the twins sat at the table.

"Absolutely not," said Draco.

"He's a lightweight," said Ron, revealing the bit of information Draco had foolishly let spill while trying to escape the Dark Lord with a hole in his arm.

The twins snickered. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Malfoy," said Fred.

"Loosen up a bit," said George.

"You don't have to," said Bill, a bit unsteady from the alcohol but still sober enough to look concerned.

Draco looked over to the twins and then sighed. "Fine," he said. "But I choose the drink."

Fred and George both shrugged. Draco walked over to the counter and picked up three glasses and a bottle of wine.

"Are you serious, Malfoy?" asked Fred.

Draco put the glasses down and filled them nearly to the top.

"That's actually quite girly of you," said George.

"And that's when all culture is lost," said Draco. "When refinement is perceived as a loss of masculinity."

Draco handed the two glasses over and then sat. He raised his in a silent toast and then put it to his lips. Wine wasn't easy to chug, but it was possible to drink it quickly, and so he easily drained the glass, and then set it down. Raising his eyebrow at the twins, they started drinking as well.

It took two and a half bottles until Fred and George were decidedly tipsy. Another bottle, and they were similar shades of green.

"Want to stop now?" asked Draco. "Before you're both ill over the carpet?"

Fred looked at the last sip or two in his glass and pushed it aside. George put his head down on the table. Draco tipped the last bit into his mouth.

"I thought you said you were a lightweight."

Draco looked over at Ron and shrugged. "I've been having wine with dinner since I was six. It's the one thing I can handle."

He got up, feeling a bit lightheaded and wanting to do nothing more than curl up with a book somewhere to fall asleep. Ginny rewarded him with a quick hug and a laugh.

"Do me favor?" Draco asked.

"Of course."

"Don't let me drink anything else tonight. I would like to be able to function in the morning."

"Afraid of temptation?"

"I don't think straight when I'm drunk."

"You don't sound very drunk."

"I'm almost drunk."

Ginny smiled. "Okay. I'll keep you away from the booze. Although, you could have just said no to my brothers."

"I had to defend my honor."

"By drinking wine."

Draco shrugged. "Whatever it takes."

Draco enjoyed himself far more than he thought he would for the rest of the night. The wine helped. After the traditional New Year's kiss and another two hours of celebration, most of the party retired, and Draco gratefully crawled into bed.

He considered, for a moment, setting an alarm so that he could get up to hear Tierney's acceptance speech, but he doubted it would be something he hadn't heard before, so he simply closed his eyes and let the wine and the days accomplishments send him to sleep.

His door opening woke him up, but he was groggy, and pulling himself fully into consciousness was difficult. The hand shaking his shoulder made him groan and shove back.

"The hell?" he managed, sitting up and glancing at the clock. It was eight-thirty in the morning. He blinked at Sirius and then frowned. Black's face was tight with emotion. Pity. Concern. Apprehension. Uncertainty.

Draco swung his legs over the bed. "What happened?"

"Come downstairs," said Sirius, and then he left.

Draco pulled on a thick jumper and a pair of socks. He wasn't used to leaving his room in pajamas just yet, but Sirius' cryptic command let him know something was wrong.

Dumbledore was in the kitchen, as was Kingsley. Sirius wordlessly handed over the morning's newspaper.

Draco took it and scanned the first headline. 'Tierney Elected as Minister of Magic'. That was no surprise. The second was. 'Tierney's First Act to Name Fudge's Assassin, Lucius Malfoy'.

He stared at the words for a moment, trying to work past his disbelief. He sat down at the table and read the article. He re-read it for good measure and then set it aside. He got up, walked to the kitchen, and poured himself a mug of coffee. He rejoined the table.

"Is it true?" asked Dumbledore, gesturing to the article. He obviously knew Draco would know if his father had killed the Minister.

Draco didn't answer. Instead he took a deep drink of coffee.

"We're having a quick meeting," said Dumbledore. "But I thought we should wake you first for the news."

Draco nodded his appreciation and turned to Kingsley. "What do you know?" he asked. Tierney shouldn't be able to prove that Lucius killed Fudge. Draco doubted even he would be able to prove that Lucius murdered the Minister, and he knew that Lucius had possession of the knife. How could his father be implicated in the assassination?

Kingsley shook his head. "I was present for the swearing in of Tierney and his acceptance speech, and that's when he gave the news that Malfoy was arrested for the murder of Fudge, but that was all he said. He's keeping his cards pretty close to his chest, and I don't think we'll find out until the trial."

"I can find out though," said Draco. "Assuming Snape doesn't know anything either."

"He'll be here in a few minutes," said Dumbledore. "Sirius, if you wouldn't mind informing everyone else?"

Sirius nodded and headed upstairs. Draco finished his coffee and walked back upstairs as well. He wanted a shower and clean clothes. He needed a few minutes alone to process the information.

He took a quick shower before retreating to his room to change. He was finding it difficult to think about Lucius' incarceration objectively. He wasn't particularly worried, as Lucius had made several trips to Azkaban in the past, but thinking about his father brought up a myriad of emotions that he had been able to shove to the side while living with the Weasley family. He might complain about the level of noise and activity, he might roll his eyes at the jokes and the laughter, but it provided a distraction. It lightened his usually somber moods. It kept his darker thoughts at bay.

Now, with the onrush of emotions, his mind reacted by going numb. His thoughts were in a flurry, it was hard to concentrate, but he felt nothing, just the annoyance that his head couldn't seem to follow a simple train of thought.

He pulled on a pair of charcoal trousers, a white linen button up, and a knit indigo jumper over that. It was too formal for breakfast, but he was planning on leaving afterwards. Percy Weasley had given him the password to his study, and he would know exactly what had happened.

He combed his hair quickly and pulled on his shoes. He pocketed both wands.

Most of the Order had gathered by the time he descended the stairs again. The teens were still in their pajamas while the adults had dressed, but obviously with haste. Dumbledore must have already filled them in on the purpose of the meeting, because they all turned to look at Draco coming in, their faces a mix of concern and apprehension. Snape looked at him with a measuring glance.

"How are you?" Ginny asked in a whisper when he sat beside her.

He nodded in response, as if that was really an answer, and then poured himself another mug of coffee from the carafe for something to do.

"The Death Eaters aren't saying anything," Snape started. "In fact, we haven't had a meeting in a few days. If the Dark Lord is involved, he's keeping it from his followers, at least for now."

"Do we think that he was involved?" asked Lupin from across the table.

"No offense," said Fred, speaking up and addressing Draco, "but if the bastard we know as Lucius Malfoy is imprisoned-,"

"Fred!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley, shocked that he would say so in front of Draco.

"Then why do we care if he is in prison?" George finished for his twin.

"Because he's in prison for one of two reasons," said Draco coolly. "The first is that in order to imprison Lucius Malfoy, there must be a regime change in the Inner Circle, and that's something we need to know. The second is that the imprisonment is just a front to cover for something much bigger than the assassination of a Minister."

"Exactly," said Dumbledore. "And either of those options do not bode well for us."

"If Lucius Malfoy is no longer Voldemort's right hand man, how is that bad for us?" asked Mrs. Weasley, phrasing the question delicately.

"Because Lucius," said Dumbledore, "while a ruthless man, is still a sane one."

"He's helped do the most damage, Albus," said Mr. Weasley. "I will not be sorry to see him go, not even if he is your father, Draco. He is a cruel and terrible man."

"Arthur," hissed Mrs. Weasley.

Draco shrugged. "You might be sorry," he said. "What the Headmaster is saying is that Lucius, being a sane man, is looking for a decisive Pureblood win, as quickly and as effortlessly as possible. Because of that, you're looking at a fierce battle, but a short one. His influence on the Dark Lord has been to stop the more gruesome raids and focus on military strikes. Instead of torturing families, Lucius directed the attacks against government leaders. Instead of attacking hospitals, Lucius targeted the Ministry. Without Lucius, the Dark Lord would be free to follow his whims. That means more torture, more tragedies, more women and children dead. Chaos and fear are harder to fight."

"You're saying I should mourn his loss?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"Of course not," said Draco. "I'm just correcting you. Is he cruel? Yes, he can be, but not terrible. You haven't seen terrible yet."

His words were met with silence and unease. Bill cleared his throat.

"So," he said, "I guess the most important thing then is trying to figure out what exactly is going on. We know that Tierney is most likely working with the Death Eaters, because of the whole Dementor attack, but do we know how he would have the power to jail Lucius Malfoy? Even if Lucius did kill Fudge, I thought there wasn't any evidence to point to anyone specifically."

"There isn't," said Dumbledore. "Tierney must have some sort of fabricated evidence, or inside knowledge. Our own attempts to interpret the situation might be hindered by the fact that we don't know who the real assassin is, but with Kingsley's position, we shouldn't be in the dark too long."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, of course, it was Lucius," he said.

"What?" asked Charlie.

"Lucius killed Fudge. Who else could do that and get away with it?" asked Draco.

"He didn't exactly get away with it," said Sirius.

Draco waved that off. "Something else happened then. There is no way Tierney should be able to prove that Lucius killed Fudge. The plan was ingenious."

There was silence. Most of the members at the table looked decidedly uncomfortable and disapproving. Draco took a sip of his coffee.

"I've a contact at the Ministry," he said, putting the cup down gently. "If there's nothing else, I'll be heading out."

"This contact," said Bill, "is it safe to meet with him, or her?"

"As safe as talking to you," said Draco, disguising honesty with flippancy.

Bill frowned. "When you say it like that, I don't know if I should believe you."

"Of course you should," said Draco. He stood and nodded farewell and then took the Floo to Percy Weasley's study.

The study was the Assistant's office. The Assistant usually spent most of his or her day sitting at a desk outside of the Minister's office and overseeing everything that went on. Because the Assistant needed a Floo and access to owls and a quiet place to work for the really important things, the Assistant's study was created.

It was on the opposite end of the Ministry, in a secluded wing, and it was accessible from the Assistant's desk by a permanent Portkey to cut the travelling time to virtually nonexistent. There was a door as well, but one with as many wards as a Gringott's bank account (because the study housed multitudes of confidential information), and the Floo which was password protected. Not even the Minister could walk into the Assistant's study uninvited. Draco, of course, had been given a standing invitation with the password.

Percy wasn't there when Draco arrived. Draco knew how busy the Assistant must be, especially now. Not only was there a new Minister, but the first act had been to accuse one of the most powerful men in the Ministry of assassinating the late Minister. The media would be all over the Ministry, and Percy would be the one tying to get control of the chaos.

So Draco explored the study while he waited. It was large, with two armchairs by the fireplace, a huge desk and matching chair behind it, and two more sat in front. Towards the side was a small kitchen, well blended into the room with matching earth tones. There was a half-stove and a few cabinets holding dishes and staple items.

The cabinets and the desk were carefully organized. All the dishes were stacked perfectly, and the utensils on the desk were set up in straight, ninety degree angles. Percy's filing cabinets were alphabetized, but they were the type that could also sort them by date if need be. He had a calendar on the wall and a day-by-day calendar on the desk. Both had the same information written down in careful handwriting. Percy Weasley appeared to be just a little bit OCD.

Draco waited for about an hour, not a surprise really. Most officials had left the Ministry at ten, after the speech and the initial shock of the news of Lucius Malfoy's arrest. The officials had been at the Ministry since eleven the night before, and the Ministry would be closed for the rest of the day. It was a holiday after all.

When Percy finally appeared in his office, he did so through the standing Portkey set up at his other desk. It was a gentle Portkey, with a soft wooshing sound, and there he was, sitting behind the large desk. He immediately slumped forward, head in his hands and letting out a deep sigh which was interrupted by a yawn.

He looked up and saw Draco.

"Give me a minute, Malfoy," he said, obviously not surprised to see him there.

Draco didn't want to give a minute, but he let Percy walk over to the stove and put the kettle on. It boiled in ten seconds, thanks to state-of-the-art spells, and then Percy poured himself a cup of tea.

"Anything?" he asked Draco.

"No," said Draco.

Percy took his cup of tea (hollymint, used in cases of muscle tension) and sat in one of the armchairs. He looked exhausted. The fire obligingly flared up with cheery flames dancing in the hearth. Draco took the chair across from him.

"There's no way Tierney should be able to prove that Lucius killed Fudge," said Draco.

"There's always a way," said Percy, but Draco shook his head.

"No. Not this time."

Percy let out a slow breath, took a sip of tea, and then spoke.

"The thing is, Lucius Malfoy really had no reason to kill Minister Fudge, did he?"

"Not personally, no," said Draco.

"So someone must have told him to kill Fudge, meaning that other people would know as well. Maybe they even knew the method of murder."

"You're saying someone turned him in," said Draco. He shook his head. "The only people who would know of Lucius' involvement would be Death Eaters. You're saying that a fellow Death Eater, who obviously knew Lucius was ordered to kill the Minister, went against the Dark Lord's wishes to turn him in."

"Yes," said Percy. "That is what I am saying."

Draco stared at Percy. Serious blue eyes stared right back.

"That's ridiculous," said Draco. "What could they possibly gain from that?"

"Apparently," said Percy, "she wants to be the new right hand of Voldemort."

Draco paused, his mind going blank for the briefest of seconds with the knowledge that only one Death Eater would have the gall to turn in Lucius Malfoy, invoking not only the wrath of the Dark Lord, but the Malfoy name was well. With that name came the realization that, for the first time, Lucius might not be able to extract himself from Azkaban.

Draco clenched his fist.

"Bellatrix," he said. The name left a foul taste on his lips. The darker thoughts in his mind, the ones that screamed for power and Angel-Flight, the thoughts that had been so quiet this past month, too quiet, stirred and started whispering.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Percy confirmed.

He'd never liked his Aunt. He didn't remember ever meeting her when he was younger, but he heard stories, stories that had terrified him. When he had met her for the first time, after her escape from Azkaban, she had grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up into her hollow, bloodshot eyes, and placed a kiss on his forehead. Her lips were cold and clammy and her fingernails were long and sharp.

"As Minister in times of war, Tierney has the power to sit with members of the opposing force, either to negotiate a surrender or receive vital information," Percy was saying. Draco only half heard him.

She had never liked Lucius, and so never liked Draco. She had sparred with him a few times, telling the rest she was training him. Draco hadn't been able to do his best as he was still hiding his talent. He had blocked the worst of her curses, but had to let through several dark ones, ones that froze the marrow in his bones and scorched the air in his lungs. All magically reversible, non-fatal. She had laughed while he twisted in pain. She was disappointed when he didn't cry.

"He says that Bellatrix sent him a letter a day before he became Minister offering the name of Fudge's murderer."

He could find her easily enough. She wasn't always playing lackey to the Dark Lord, especially now that he had Claire, young and unspoiled from Azkaban. What would hurt her the most? Losing her hands, or simply all of her fingers? Losing her eyes, or just her tongue? There were a million ways he could disfigure her. A million ways for her to die pain, in despair.

"Right after we informed him of his title, he brought her into the room and she gave up your father," Percy finished.

"He's not my father," said Draco automatically.

"Legally, perhaps not," said Percy. "But you did come here."

He did come here. He came and now he was plotting the murder of his aunt for the possible death of his father who had disowned him, his father who had chosen a living, maniacal corpse over him.

Draco pushed away the whispers in his head. "I came here because I thought Lucius might have something else planned," he said.

"And now?"

"Now I think he should have seen this coming."

How had Lucius missed this? Nothing escaped his father. What had happened to cause such neglect?

"Are you going to do anything?" asked Percy.

"Like what?"

Percy shrugged a shoulder. "Tierney's pushing for a War Council instead of a trial. Lucius Malfoy will not be tried by the Wizengamot. He will have no appeal. Conviction will lead to the Kiss."

Draco had already figured that would be the course of action, but hearing it aloud caused him to flinch.

He could take a page out of her own book. The Cruciatus curse was often overlooked because it was simply the most well known torture curse. It was the most well-known because it worked so well. She would die screaming. He'd have to tell Neville Longbottom.

"Lucius already has lawyers," said Percy, "but Veritaserum will be used, so unless you have a counter to that, the verdict will be guilty."

The counter was still in its theoretical stages, but even if it had been ready, would he really give it to Lucius? Familial disputes aside, there was no denying what sort of man his father was. There was no denying that helping him go free would be lead to the deaths of others. Draco found himself in a morally quandary. He wasn't used to the feeling.

There was too much to think about. He stood abruptly and nodded.

"I appreciate the information."

"What are you going to do?" asked Percy.

Draco shrugged a shoulder. "I need more information," he said. He would ask around. He would learn everything he could. He would wait.

"I'm sorry I can't be of more help," said Percy.

"You've been exceedingly helpful," said Draco. "I just need a different sort of information. Have a good day." He threw Floo powder on the flames and stepped through.

OoOoOoOoOo—OoOoOoOoOo—OoOoOoOoOo

"Where have you been?" Bill demanded when Draco stepped out of the fireplace.

It was four o'clock. Draco had been gone far too long for a simple meeting with a contact. He couldn't see any signs of injury though. Draco's clothing was impeccable, as always, and he didn't appear to be in pain. His expression was tight though, matching Bill's at that moment. With every hour that passed, Bill got more and more concerned that Draco was going to do something more befitting a Gryffindor.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Out," he said.

"Real mature, Draco," said Bill.

"Then why were you worrying?" asked Draco, deliberately overlooking his sarcasm. He walked back into his study and Bill, after exchanging a frustrated expression with Charlie and Sirius who were in the dining room, followed him back.

Draco was pulling off his coat when Bill stepped into the study. Bill watched the way Draco casually tossed it over the back of his chair and then sat at his piano. Draco played a few arpeggios, all the way up and down the keys, both hands, very quickly.

"Learn anything?" Bill asked.

The answer was obviously 'yes', but he waited to see if Draco would tell him.

"You could say that," said Draco.

Music filled the pause.

"What are you going to do?" asked Bill.

"I honestly do not know," Draco admitted in a matter-of-fact tone.

Bill wanted to ask what it was Draco had found out. He wanted to know what was so troubling. Draco would never tell though, not unless he was ready. He fell back on his usual question.

"How are you?"

"Fine."

Bill sighed and pulled out a chair to sit in.

"Look, Draco, I'm worried about you. Your father is in jail, he's probably going to be sentenced to the Kiss, you've been gone all morning and afternoon, and I know that there is a lot of trouble you could have been getting yourself into, so could you please tell me how you are doing and how I can help?"

Draco stopped playing. He let his hands drop in his lap and bowed his head. He let out a measured breath.

"I don't know," he said. "It's…surreal. Lucius has always gotten off before, or managed to escape, but now…if what I've heard is true, I don't think he's getting out of it."

"Could you tell me?" Bill tried.

"I…not right now."

"Should you tell me?"

Draco straightened and turned around on the bench. "I need to do something," he evaded. "Are you feeling up to some Runes work? You'll need to get started if you want to publish your book sometime in this decade."

Bill looked at him, saw the turmoil in the stormy eyes, and nodded. Questions could come later.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Darn that evil Bellatrix. Alright, I really will be pushing for two weeks, and not three this time. Please leave a review!


	24. A Brush with Murder

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I would have the ability, and time, to think of a witty disclaimer.

Author's note: So….three weeks and an hour late then? School is seriously kicking my butt. Luckily, I was able to write this over Thanksgiving break, or most of it. It really sucks that I'm so busy, because I know where I want to go with these chapters, and there's nearly no planning involved, but I'm just so _busy_. It's absolutely ridiculous. Anyway, enough of my ranting. Enjoy the chapter. The next chapter should only be two weeks in the making as it's finals in one week, or there about, which means all-day study time, and really, who needs to study all day? Time to write, hurrah! Sorry I'm not replying to reviews again.

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Draco refused to look at the paper the next day and avoided the radio. Lucius' trial started at nine am the day after he was taken. Minister Tierney had wanted to have the trial that day, but Lucius' contingent of lawyers had managed to stall for the day at least. Lucius had spent the night in Azkaban, not a new experience for him, and then the trial had begun.

Draco would have listened had it been an ordinary trial, but because Fudge had been killed by a supposed Death Eater, Wizarding England was now, through technicalities, involved in a war. Lucius would be tried as an enemy of the country by a war tribune. He would be forced to testify under Veritaserum. Bellatrix would be allowed to give testimony against him. There would only be one verdict.

There were loopholes, of course, but they would only delay the Kiss. Even stalling would do nothing because Draco's contacts, and Snape, had said nothing about the Dark Lord's reaction to Lucius' imprisonment. Could it be he was not rescuing his right hand man this time? Could Bellatrix have convinced him to do nothing?

No, such a thought was ludicrous. Lucius was one of the most powerful men in the wizarding world. To leave Lucius to the Kiss would be cutting off his arm; it would be crippling to lose that support. No, Lucius would be rescued once more.

Still, he avoided the trial. Draco worked on the runes, catching Bill up and then finishing the dialects. They planned out the first few chapters of the book, or rather, Draco planned them out when Bill was not around to distract him, and then turned to the Veritaserum counter – which really was far from completion – anything to keep his mind occupied.

He didn't leave his study, because the rest of the house was following the trial, and he could tell by the guiltily triumphant looks on their faces that it wasn't going well.

He stayed in the study until late, until his exhausted mind finally couldn't think anymore, but instead of a numb relief, the lack of thoughts meant he was free to feel. Emotions surged through him, coursing through his mind, rising and falling, twisting and looping, and he, unused to such feelings, could only name them as they passed by.

Disbelief. Not a surprise. The entire country was in shock.

Uncertainty. Lucius would be freed, but the Dark Lord was running out of time to plan the escape. What was taking so long? Another doubt, why had Bellatrix no been punished for her betrayal yet? What was he waiting for?

Denial. His father was untouchable, or so he had thought. Yet Bellatrix had Lucius arrested with a simple declaration. If, for some strange, inconceivable reason, the Dark Lord did not rescue Lucius, it would be the end. Lucius, who may be cold and unfeeling, but was always alive. His eyes always saw through the hardest of masks, his wit was always deadly, his strength never failing.

Fear. Not for himself. For his father. But that was an illogical emotion. His father was in no danger; the Dark Lord would see to that.

Draco sat at his desk and put his head in his hands. He concentrated on breathing, deep and even. He was suddenly drained of all energy and even moving from his desk seemed to be a monumental task. He made it to his room, however, and sank onto the bed. His eyes shut without conscious thought or effort and he slept.

He slept until nine the next morning, and he if dreamed, he didn't remember it. When he woke, he dug through his trunk for his small radio and turned it on, listening for any news about Lucius before venturing out of his room, but while the trial was over, no decision had been reached yet. The media was reporting there would be a decision by the afternoon.

Draco showered and dressed, unconsciously pulling on a few of his more expensive garments and combing his hair until it shone.

The family was particularly kind to him, and Draco decided not be a bastard and call them out on it. He retreated back to his study but came out in the afternoon. Bill was listening to the radio in the living room, rocking a fussing Lukas, and Draco joined him, sitting on the floor and staring at the fire.

The news casters were running through the charges, bringing up every rumor they had ever heard about Lucius. Some of them were true, some were laughable. Draco's name was brought up several times as well, but less was said about him. It appeared wizarding England was ready to believe that his association with Harry Potter and the Weasley family had changed him for the better.

"You don't have to listen," said Bill. "I could tell you when they reach a verdict."

"There's only one verdict they'll reach," said Draco.

"Then should you really be listening to this?"

Draco didn't answer. There was knowing what the verdict would be, and then there was hearing it. In all of his life, Draco had never thought Lucius Malfoy would be convicted of anything as little as insider trading. He never expected this, never thought it was possible.

He waited for half an hour before the broadcasters announced the reconvening of the war council. It took another fifteen minutes for the members to get settled and for the defense and prosecution to assemble. Draco knew Lucius was there, standing behind the table with his contingent of lawyers. Surely he knew there was no hope for an acquittal, but what other plan did he have? There must be another plan. Lucius would not be Kissed.

"We, the council of the Ministry of Magic, find the defendant, Monsieneur Lucius Malfoy, guilty of the assassination of Minister Cornelius Fudge," the head reported. "He will be sentenced to the Kiss of the Dementor."

There was instant uproar. Cheers, shouts of disbelief, denials, applause. Draco stopped breathing.

"Lucius Malfoy has placed his appeal, and the Council will take twenty-four hours to consider his argument. This courtroom is adjourned."

The spectators erupted again. Draco could barely hear the broadcaster's voice above the others. It was almost a static. Even the room appeared to be a bit fuzzy. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that his father had been found guilty. The appeal would not go through; Lucius would be moved to a secure holding cell right after the decision came in. He would stay there the night, and in the morning, he would be Kissed.

Did it hurt? Having your soul ripped out, was it painful? Was it true that once the soul was inside the Dementor, there could be no afterlife until the Dementor was destroyed? A Purgatory, in a sense. Suffering for the wicked before a greater judgment.

"Draco!" A hand shook his shoulder, and Draco started, his lungs finally expanding with air. The inrush of oxygen cleared his mind and he blinked to see Bill hovering over him.

"You okay?" Bill asked.

On the radio, the chaos had settled down slightly, and the broadcaster was still speaking. Bill reached over and flicked it off before any words could be understood.

"Are you going to be okay?" Bill reiterated.

In the silence, Draco felt a slow poison rise in his chest. He'd felt it a few times before, when Lukas was killed, when he first met the Dark Lord, but this time the poison was choking. It was burning away at his mind and a writhing, primal desire began to seep into his veins, coursing through every inch of him until his fingers curled into fists, nails biting at his palms.

Draco nodded, cool mask hiding the dark thoughts. "I'm alright." His voice came out measured, if a little breathless.

"Draco-,"

"I'm alright," said Draco again. He got to his feet. "I'm going to my room. I need to think."

"You do too much of that," said Bill, half-joking, trying to lighten the mood.

Draco's chest twisted in hatred at that little bit of levity. Bill's concern was stifling him, smothering him. The black voice inside of him screamed for air. It was irrational; he knew that, but right now, he needed to get away.

He forced his lips upward in a small smile at Bill, who looked considerably off put at the expression.

"I'll be fine," he said.

He walked out of the room. A radio was on in the kitchen, and several members of the family were gathered around the dining room table. They all looked at him; he didn't look back. He was suddenly afraid that if he did, he might curse them all.

He ran lightly up the stairs and once he was in his room, he closed his door and leaned against it, trying to regulate his breathing, trying to keep his hands from shaking. The burning poison was rushing to his head, demanding blood. Somewhere, a part of him, the rational part that spoke in a voice that was a cross of Lukas and Bill, was telling him to stop, to take ten minutes, to talk to someone. He ruthlessly, deliberately, silenced that voice.

He wasn't a Gryffindor. He wasn't even nice most of the time. He had morals, but very few. He did not see any reason to change, and now he saw no reason to hide any longer. He was a child of dark magic, raised on illegal curses and an absence of love. He was strong, a forced to be reckoned with, and now he was going to show his aunt what a mistake she had made. He may not be a Malfoy any longer in name, but his blood was pure. He would no longer deny himself his true heritage. He reveled in his freedom now, wondering why he had ever stifled his talent. He recalled his weak, ineffectual time spent with the Order, and it disgusted him how he had changed.

When Draco stood and crossed over to his trunk, the thought of leaving a note for Bill didn't even occur to him. He changed, dressing in his Feles uniform and adding a long, black leather coat over that. He shrank his broom and pocketed it along with his registered wand. He slipped a ring on his finger, strapped a watch onto his wrist, and slipped a crystal ball into his outer coat pocket, along with a pouch of coins. He laced his leather boots on tight, slipping a lock-picking knife into his right boot, and then grabbed his unregistered wand. He tapped the necklace Bill had given him, casting a Portkey and return spell, just in case, and then grasped the charm. He was jerked away.

Knockturn Alley was always dark and dismal, but the sleet splattering from the dark sky and the bitter wind made the disreputable streets even more inhospitable. Draco appeared in the middle of the road which was empty of the usual miscreants. The news of Lucius Malfoy's trial and verdict would have hit this community hard. While some might celebrate his passing, if Lucius could be tried and found guilty, who knew who would be next?

Draco strode down the street and arrived at the Ravus Umbra. He could see through the small, dirt-crusted windows that the bar was packed with dark wizards and witches and various other creatures. Nothing brought criminals together like the news of a crime lord's downfall.

He reached for the door handle and flung it open. Lucius knew how to make an entrance, but Draco got his true flare of dramatics from Narcissa, one of the few things he had inherited from her.

The bar's patrons all looked over and then stared. Draco stepped in and let the wind slam the door shut behind him. He swept over the costumers with a cool gaze and then spotted a group of men sitting in a booth alongside the wall. These were the contacts for corrupt Ministry officials. They carried out the darker deeds of the Ministry's governors, blackmail, coercion, death threats, and selling national secrets.

Draco walked directly towards them, his footsteps echoing in the silence. He grabbed an empty chair from the table across from them and set it down at the head of their table with a bang. He deliberately sat in the chair. The window across from him was clean enough to reflect whatever may happen behind him.

He pointedly waited until conversation behind him started again. While he waited, he studied the scum of Knockturn ally, the men that made a life of crime possible. Ashby, forty-six, married into relative wealth. He was a sweaty, balding man whose interests lay in younger women. Across from him, Forbis and Gardner, both working the black market of national and international secrets. They were pale and pasty and were both expert duelers.

He smiled at the men, a hard smile, unfeeling. "I'm in need of some information," he said. "You are going to give me what I need."

Forbis and Gardner exchanged a look. Ashby laughed.

"Right," he said. What was left of Ashby's hair was worn in an unfortunate comb-over which only accentuated the fat in his cheeks. "Because we take orders from deposed heirs of a failing fortune with ties to Dumbledore. Do yourself a favor, kid, and stay out of grown-up affairs. Go back to that good little girlfriend of yours and her suck you off if you're feeling a little rowdy, and if she won't, here." Ashby flicked a galleon at him. "Buy yourself someone who will."

Forbis and Gardner laughed. Draco turned a cool, unimpressed expression onto Ashby that silenced the trio more effectively than a crucio, although the curse would be much more satisfying.

"Tell me, Ashby," he said. "If Aurors were to raid your houses at this very minute, what do you think would get you in the most trouble, the files you stole from the Magical Defense Department on the movements of our undercover operatives, or the underaged mistress you have currently warming your bed? I understand your wife is your main source of income. However will you buy your expensive wine without her financial support?"

Ashby stared at him, then blinked and downed his whiskey. "You're bluffing," he said.

Draco leaned in. "Can you afford to take that risk?"

Ashby glanced to his companions, then back. "What do you want?"

"Nothing too costly, or too difficult. I need the locations of the safe houses in use by the Ministry."

Ashby chuckled. "And I have some friends currently staying in those safe houses. I may be a snitch, but I don't squeal on my friends."

"It's not your friends I'm after," said Draco. "I need to know the location of Bellatrix Lestrange."

That got Ashby's attention. "Bellatrix, huh?" he asked. "Isn't she your aunt, or something?"

"You can't choose your family," said Draco.

"And when you find her, then what?"

Draco sat back in his chair, eyebrow raised. "Can't you imagine it, Ashby? I could describe the gory particulars if you wanted. I have been told I'm quite innovative with the dark curses."

Ashby raised his hands. "Alright, alright. Just asking. There are three that were put into use right after Tierney named her a witness, but the word is that she's just south of Scotland. Barrick Manor. Need a map?" The last was said with a mocking tone. Draco ignored it.

"Thank you for your cooperation," he said. He pulled out a small pouch of galleons and tossed it on the table. "For the inconvenience."

It was a good amount he had given for knowledge he could have gleaned from eight other spies he was aware of. He walked towards the back and Flooed to the Sparrowhawk, another pub of ill repute, only a short broom ride from the safe house.

Draco had to keep a high altitude in flight, as not to be detected by the wards around the house, and the air was frigid. Even the heat-regulating leather coat Draco wore wasn't enough to keep out the chill, and his exposed skin went numb only three minutes out.

He located the house, alone in a stretch of woods, and slowly descended. His ring flashed when he was thirty feet over the roof and he stopped. The Ministry used the same wards for every house. They were good wards, but like any security system, there was always a way around it.

Draco tilted his broom downwards ever-so-slightly, and then cast a temporary immobilization charm on himself. He never said that getting around the wards was particularly safe. At this moment, if any Aurors were patrolling the house and happened to look up, he would be unable to move to defend himself. Still, the wards wouldn't register such a smooth, gradual motion. They were specifically tied into human movement, so that every little animal or falling leaf didn't put the guards on high alert. All Draco had to do was ride through them completely still.

It took a few minutes to get through, as he had set his broom on one of the slowest descents possible, but also because the wards were thick. It took several moments to ride through the thick magic, and towards the end he could feel his immobilization charm slowly melt away, but he broke free of the ward just in time.

He circled the house once before setting down on the roof. He couldn't see any signs of activity. The Aurors were all probably inside, and Bellatrix would be in the most central room.

Draco shrunk his broom and pocketed it again. He pulled out his unregistered wand and turned the ring on his hand and curled his palm around the gem. The stone was sharp, and it pierced his skin. Draco pointed his wand at the roof.

"Liquefacio," he whispered, and he sank through into the attic. He next pulled out the crystal globe and held it up. Inside the sphere, the house appeared, and then the walls were taken off. Draco could see inside the rooms, he could see the occupants. Two Aurors in the front hall, another in the kitchen. Two were upstairs. Bellatrix was in a study, almost directly below him.

Draco put the crystal ball back as well. Normally such a dark artifact would be detected by the wards, his spells would have been detected as well, but that was the beauty of the ring he was wearing. It redirected the remains of the spell into himself, cleaning up any loose magic to avoid detection. It wasn't healthy to use for the long term, but as long as he purged the remains from his body when he was finished, he would be fine.

He knelt and pressed his hand on the floor and cast the spell to fall through the floor again. He dropped lightly into the study and Bellatrix whipped around, leaping from the armchair she had been reclining in. Her hand went to her waist, but her wand wasn't there.

Draco smirked. "I thought the Aurors might have confiscated your wand, Aunt Bella."

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed, but she merely sank back into her chair.

"Draco," she said. "Quite the surprise, seeing you here. I had thought, seeing as Lucius so casually discarded you, that familial retribution would be the last thing on your mind. But then again, you were always so helplessly devoted to him. I saw it when I first met you after my little exile in Azkaban. Tell me, how did you feel when daddy threw you out?"

"Seeing as I chose the path that would lead to my disownment, he didn't exactly throw me out. You could say I left."

"And yet here you are. Wanting revenge for Lucius' imminent demise."

"Got it in one," said Draco.

"Will you forever be groveling for his approval, Draco?"

"I stopped looking for his approval a year ago. This is something different; this is revenge."

She didn't take his announcement lightly. Instead she shrieked and ran at him, hands outstretched and curved into claws. A simply tripping hex and she sprawled. Draco grabbed her by her thick tangle of hair and jerked her backwards, onto her knees, her head bent back awkwardly. A simple twist and her neck would break. It was an enticing thought, but it was entirely too soon. She screamed her rage, and he kicked her in the side, right below her ribs, where her kidneys were. She grunted and tried to bend over. He didn't let her.

"Tell me, Bellatrix," he asked, pulling her head back even farther and staring her in the face. "Did you turn Lucius in because you were too afraid to confront him face to face?"

She spat at him. "It was the only way to be permanently rid of him. You Malfoys are the scourge of the Purebloods, unwilling to see your Master's plans to fruition if it means minor discomfort to yourself."

"We Malfoys have no master, that's your first mistake," said Draco. He shoved her to the floor and pulled out his wand. "Crucio."

She screamed and writhed. Draco turned away from her and surveyed the room. She was living in luxury. The fireplace was marble and gold. The chair she had been sitting in was velvet and plush. There was a liquor cabinet and a shelf of books along the back wall as well as a writing desk and supplies. It was intolerable.

The blackness rose up inside of him and he cut off the curse, striding back to his aunt and grabbing her by the hair again. When she struggled, he took her head and smashed it against the coffee table beside the fireplace. She was more pliant when blood gushed from her forehead.

He threw her on the floor in front of the fireplace and then picked up a poker beside the mantle and speared it into a burning log. He let the poker stay to heat up. He could have done it with a spell, but he found anticipation was a great tool to use in torture.

"I understand why you're upset," he told her as she lay dazed on the floor, hand at her head, staring up at him with a weak hatred in her eyes. "Your pathetic excuse for a life demands some obsession, something greater than yourself. You're directionless, weak, helpless, and yet you desire greatness. That is why you must let him consume you. That is why you sacrifice your life."

She snorted, opening her mouth to cut him off, but he flicked his wand and she screamed as the bones in her right foot were crumpled in an invisible fist, squeezing and grinding, until the deformity was visible even through her boot.

"Don't interrupt your betters, Bellatrix," said Draco evenly. "And that is what we are. Malfoys. Not the scourge you revile, but the splendor you could never achieve."

He crouched down. "Oh, poor, disillusion, hopeless Bellatrix. Even Narcissa was smarter than you. She married into grandeur."

"Narcissa is worthless," Bellatrix hissed out. "She is a disgrace to the family of Black by allying herself with Lucius, but at least she had the right idea, trying to kill you. If I was her, I wouldn't have stopped with the drugs, I would have strangled you myself!"

Draco flicked his wand and her right leg bent ninety-degrees at her calf. She screeched and Draco surveyed the displaced leg with a critical eye.

"Does that hurt?" he asked. "I could do much worse, you know. I could turn your bones into ice, and then throw you into the fire and watch you melt from the inside out. I could boil your eyes and make them burst into your brain, destroying your ability to think. I could remove your fingers, at the first knuckle, and then the second, and then again until all you had would be worthless paddles. Would your Master reconstruct you, like a broken doll? Are would he throw you away with the Muggles he tires with?"

"Whatever you do to me, he will do to you at a measure ten times greater than what you inflict now," Bellatrix whispered.

Draco laughed. "I doubt he can exceed my creativity, dear Aunt."

He stepped back and cast a dark curse that slowly peeled her fingernails off. Ignoring her cry, he walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of brandy. He carried the glass back over and sipped the alcohol while she writhed. When her moans subsided, he crystallized her blood cells and finished off the brandy while she screamed as her blood tore gouges in even the smallest of her capillaries and scoured the chambers of her heart.

This spell wasn't lethal. Because the blood was crystallized, she wouldn't bleed out, but it was excruciating.

"I am going to kill you," he told the tortured woman. "I want you to know that. When you are in such pain that you curse the day you were born, just remember, it will all be over soon, and I will send your soul to Hades. And don't be trite and say 'I'll see you there', because I know you probably will. I am killing my own aunt after all."

He walked over to the fireplace and set the glass down on the mantle. He pulled the poker from the log and then shook the remaining coals off of the prong over Bellatrix's injured form.

"Did you know your Master dared to mark me?" Draco asked her.

"He marks his own, and he marks those he will destroy," Bellatrix rasped.

Draco gave a harsh laugh. "He hasn't been able to kill me yet. In fact, his track record leaves a lot of room for improvement."

He cast a body bind on Bellatrix and then crouched next to her form, grasping her left arm and pushing back her robes to reveal the Dark Mark.

"I figure this is your most prized possession," he said, referring to the tattoo. He pressed the poker down on her flesh, the hiss and smell completely revolting, but he still dragged the poker across her arm, and then again, a crude 'X' over the snake and skull.

"I would go for something a little more sophisticated," he told her, "but you're not going to be alive long enough to really appreciate my artistic talent."

He took off the body bind, and now she could finally scream at him. Her rage wasn't surprising, but her actions were. He forgot that the insane were usually paired with extreme amounts of strength, and so he was taken off guard when she lunged for him. He was taken off guard, but his reflexes had been honed, and so he jumped back and cast the Cruciatus again.

She fell to the floor, yelling in pain and anger. He left the curse on until she lost control of her body and her muscles started to twitch and seize. She gasped in a few breaths, and then began to laugh, high, cackling laughter that had great capacity to unnerve even the most unflappable.

"You stupid, predictable, little boy," she heaved. "With all of your assertions of intelligence. Your arrogance will always be your greatest weakness. Lucius had it. Now he's going to be Kissed."

"No," said Draco. "You may have turned him in, but if you really think the Dark Lord will just sit by while his strongest ally is executed, you're more inane than I thought. Lucius Malfoy is one of the most powerful men in all of England."

"Not anymore," said Bellatrix.

"So what? The Dark Lord's just going to let him rot?" Draco asked.

Bellatrix laughed again. "Silly boy," she said. "The Dark Lord was the one who put Lucius in Azkaban."

There was an odd rushing in his ears. His heart clenched and his stomach felt as if he had just dropped into a freefall on a broom.

"What?" he heard himself saying.

"The Dark Lord told me to turn Lucius in. He gave me all of the details. You see, Draco, Lucius was getting a little difficult to manage. It was almost as if he didn't want to take orders anymore, and so after becoming Lucius' heir, the Dark Lord decided it was time to part ways, and get rid of a Minister at the same time."

Draco took a step back. "This is ridiculous," he said. "Lucius would never-,"

"Lucius, Lucius, Lucius," mocked Bellatrix. "You really are hopeless dependant, aren't you? Well it's time to grow up, boy, because your beloved father isn't as smart as you thought he was. For all of his arrogance and airs, all it took was one word from the Dark Lord to bring him down. The reign of the Malfoy family is over. Tomorrow, he will be sentenced, and then, he will be Kissed. He will die."

"You're lying," said Draco, advancing on her. He slashed his wand through the air, an identical wound appearing across Bellatrix's chest, slicing through robes and flesh. Blood gushed out, some splattering across Draco's face and clothes. "You're lying!"

He grabbed her, pulling her to her feet with adrenaline-induced strength and smashed her against the wall. Her blood spilled onto his hands, but he hardly noticed. He pressed the tip of his wand at her heart and spoke softly, invoking a dark curse that would turn her heart from a living muscle, into a dead mass of tissue.

"Good-bye, Aunt Bella," he said, as she gasped, hands clawing at her chest. "I'm afraid I have no patience for your senseless prattle." Her eyes rolled back in her head and she slipped, grabbing onto his robes, and then one hand grabbed his neck, yanking his head down so she could whisper in his ear, voice hoarse and strained.

"Then why is the Dark Lord coming to save me?"

He let her drop, whirling around to the door as she laughed with the last of her breaths.

The door burst open, and there stood Voldemort, draped in black and green, a line of Death Eaters behind him. Draco was immediately calling up a shield charm, but it was half a second too late.

The agony of the Cruciatus curse sent him to the floor, fighting back a scream and trying to remember, no matter what, to hold onto his wand. This was worse than he remembered. The fire that had raced over his body before had now turned into a molten lava being pumped through his veins, igniting every cell and nerve-ending. The Dark Lord had grown stronger with the aid of his Horcrux.

The pain overrode any thought, until he hardly remembered to breathe, but he could see Death Eaters approaching to apprehend him, and he couldn't afford to be caught.

He tried pushing past the pain, to form some sort of curse, but failed and fumbled for his necklace. He heard the Dark Lord shout in warning, but then he grasped his necklace and Portkeyed away.

The curse ended with his departure and he appeared in the front hall of the Order, lying in a crumpled mess. Footsteps came running, and then he was being helped up.

"Shit, Draco, you okay?" asked Bill. "You're bleeding. Where are you hurt?"

"I'm not," said Draco, pulling away and managing to stand on his own. "It's not my blood."

Bill stepped back. Draco could see several members of the Weasley family lingering in the dining room, staring at him.

"Draco," said Bill, his voice quiet and fearful. "Tell me you didn't."

Draco shrugged and pulled off his coat. A quick cleaning charm and the blood was gone. "She's not dead, if that's what you mean."

"Bellatrix," said Bill. "You went after her."

"Yeah, I did," said Draco, meeting Bill's gaze.

"But you didn't kill her."

Bill seemed to take that as a sign Draco had developed a heart of gold. He ruthlessly crushed that hope.

"It wasn't for lack of trying. I was interrupted; I'm sure she's been given the appropriate countercurses by now."

Bill looked startled, but then he stepped forward again. "Did she manage to hit you with a curse? You look pale."

"She didn't hit me with anything," said Draco. "She didn't have a wand."

"She didn't-," Bill repeated, before cutting himself off. He started again, voice stern, disapproving. "You were going to murder her," he said. "You wanted to _murder_ her."

"Yes," said Draco.

Bill stared at him for a long moment. For the first time, Draco wasn't quite sure what the red-haired man was thinking. The hazel eyes were hard, Bill's expression was set. Bill finally jerked his head towards the stairs.

"Go take a shower, get cleaned up."

"What?" Draco scoffed. "No heart to heart, or meaningful talks?" His voice was sneering, far more disgusted than he intended, but his body was still aching from the curse, his hands were trembling with adrenaline and he had to clench his robes to keep them from being noticed.

"Right now I really don't want to talk to you," said Bill evenly. "It's late. I was up half the night worrying, because you didn't leave a note, and I didn't know if you were hurt or not, but now I see that I shouldn't have worried. You can take care of yourself, and you are perfectly capable of turning into Lucius no matter what I do, or how often I try to help, so no. No meaningful talks. I'm going to go relieve my wife who has been with a crying baby for half of the day and then get some sleep."

And Bill turned around and walked up the stairs. Draco stared after him, surprised and a little disconcerted. He waited for Bill to turn back, to heave a sigh but cave in and ask if he was alright. He waited, but Bill ascended the stairs without looking back. Draco was left standing in the hall, staring after him with a look of surprise on his face.

He did go upstairs though, because Harry and Ron and Mr. Weasley were staring at him from the dining room, disapproval and shock on their face. Draco was pretty sure there were others in the dining room as well, just as damning as Mr. Weasley was.

He didn't know how he managed to walk up to the third floor, and he was full-out shaking when he finally stumbled into the bathroom, but that was a perk to the third floor. Only the twins and Charlie shared this level, meaning that is was a private as one got in this house.

Draco turned on the shower until it was almost scalding and then fumbled to pull his clothes off. He stepped under the spray, not realizing how truly unsteady he really was until forced to stand on slick tile. He sat instead, because it was that or collapse after a few moments. He positioned himself directly under the water, feeling the heat slowly relax his muscles strained from the Cruciatus. His nerves still tingled, still randomly twinged in pain, but the water helped.

He reached for his ring and pulled it off, and the remains of the spells he used rushed out of him, leaving him gasping and feeling weaker than before, if that was possible. He took in a few measured breaths and then leaned his head against the cool, tile wall.

Bill's expression was called to mind. Was Bill disappointed with him, or just angry? But Bill never really understood what it was like to be a Malfoy. Family demanded retribution. Wouldn't Bill go after a Death Eater if Fleur was killed?

Of course he wouldn't. Bill would talk about it, maybe hunt the culprit down, but he couldn't see Bill actually murdering anyone. He would probably drag him in for a trial and persevere with his Gryffindor nobility and the support from his family.

But that didn't mean Bill could place his morality on Draco. He had no right to completely remove Draco from hundreds of years of traditions. Draco was a Malfoy.

_Not anymore_, said the voice in the back of his head, finally re-emerging after the night's activities. _You _chose_ not to be. You _chose_ to fight with the Order. You have a greater responsibility now; you have a moral code to follow, to uphold_.

Absolutely not, he argued. Where would the world be if no one decided to do the dirty work?

The voice was silent, because it didn't have to say anything. Already Draco's own, innate logic was countering the poor argument. Spying was one thing. Torturing a killer for information was flirting with the line, but murder? Was that really dirty work, or was it simply depraved? After all, that was how horcruxes were made, with intentional, premeditated murder.

Draco's soul was tainted, yes, but his was still intact. If he had killed, it was in battle, in self-defense. But killing a defenseless, wicked, insane woman? He could have become just like the Dark Lord. Or, as Bill had pointed out, his father.

Lucius was not a good man. He had his good moments, his good qualities, and 'enigma' was more of a fitting term than decidedly 'evil', but there were many things that Lucius was that Draco would be happier with out. Murderer was one of them.

Suddenly the feel of Bellatrix's hair in his fist came back to him. Of smashing her head into the table. Of her blood splashing onto him.

The brandy in his stomach churned and his muscles burned as he tensed with each, bloody memory until he was trembling again. One more thought, and this of his father, damned to the Kiss with no hope of rescue from the Dark Lord hit him, and he turned his head towards the drain and threw up. Just the brandy and bile came up, and then he shivered, turned the water hotter, and continued to sit.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Bill didn't want to get up in the morning. Getting up would mean going downstairs, going downstairs would mean having to talk to Draco, and that was just an entire mess in itself.

He knew that Draco probably grew up with murder as common as the cold. Alright, so that was probably an exaggeration, but Lucius Malfoy was not an ideal role model. The Pureblood aristocracy was not a place to raise a child. The society was full of subterfuge and assassinations until all sense of the sacredness of any other life, outside of a family, was lost. Just look at Lucius Malfoy, willing to kill the Minister of Magic simply because the Dark Lord asked him to do so.

Bill didn't believe that Draco was such a degenerate. If anything, Draco had shown through his disavowal of Voldemort that he did hold some moral sense, but last night had proven that his morality was twisted and flexible.

Draco wasn't evil, Bill knew that. But there was a part of Draco that lusted for power, that could easily throw aside all ethics if it was for his gain. Draco's Boggart proved that Draco, while wary of that lurking presence, was no saint. Lord Draco had come out last night, and it had thrown Bill for a loop.

He had thought that Draco was doing better. That exposure to his family and the Order might help solidify some of those fledgling ethics into Draco. Maybe he had been blinded by his hope.

Or, said his rational voice, Draco is just a kid who was brought up to avenge his family, and not bat an eye at murder, and when confronted with the horror of having a parent sentenced to die, reacted in the way he was taught. A year isn't a lot of time to counter lessons from childhood, and Draco already has a lot to deal with for a teenager. Don't take it so personally.

Bill sighed and ran a hand over his face. The thought of Draco killing someone, even if she was a psychopath, was still disturbing. It wasn't to say he wouldn't condone her death. If, somehow, a jury could get hold of Bellatrix and sentence her to the Kiss, he would have to suppress the desire to celebrate. But he didn't want Draco to rip his own soul to get rid of a blight to humanity.

Bill got up, still unsure of how to approach Draco, so to stall, he took a long shower, but all too soon he was dressed and walking down the stairs. He hoped maybe the words would come once he saw Draco, something to show that he was upset, but in no way condemning Draco for the rules he was raised with, just a reminder that it wasn't the right way, or the best way.

Draco, though, wasn't at breakfast, nor was he in his study. Bill decided to at least have a coffee before going up to Draco's room, but halfway through his mug, Draco came down. He was wearing a dark suit and robes, and he looked a little pale, almost anxious.

"Are you alright, dear?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

Bill saw Draco glance over in surprise. The whole family had heard by now, heard how Draco had gone to kill Bellatrix. The concern was no doubt startling to him, and it was a little startling to Bill as well, but he was grateful for the kindness. Merlin knew Draco hadn't had enough of it in his life, and right now would be the wrong time to shun him.

"Yes," said Draco. "I'm fine, thank you." He glanced down, his fingers flew in their pattern, and then he looked up at Bill.

Bill waited, waited while Draco hesitated.

"I'm sorry," Draco said finally, his words nearly knocking Bill over in surprise. "I wasn't thinking," Draco continued. "I was angry and I shouldn't have…," he trailed off, and glanced down again.

Bill couldn't think of anything to say. He felt like now would be a good time to reassure Draco, to tell him it was alright, but he couldn't quite formulate the words in his head. He was going to make a lousy father if he couldn't even respond to an apology.

Draco took a breath, and then dragged his gaze back up to Bill. The grey eyes were troubled, and Bill was used to the expression, was used to seeing the storm inside, but there was something more to the conflict, an element he had only seen once, when Draco talked about his brother. Draco was grieving, and so his words surprised Bill.

"I'm going to go see Lucius."

Bill blinked. "You're what?"

Draco started speaking, the words coming out even, but quickly, rushed.

"The appeal will fall through this afternoon, and once that happens, they'll move Lucius to a more secure cell. They'll only allow visits through a magically enforced glass wall with at least five Aurors listening in to every word of the conversation and I would like to say goodbye without my words being analyzed and recorded for any future reference, or leaked and published to all of the radio stations in England."

"Wait," said Bill. "Goodbye? But you said yourself that Voldemort would never let Bellatrix have your father executed. You said he would get out."

"If the execution was Bellatrix's revenge, then yes, the Dark Lord would free him. But I became aware of some information last night. The Dark Lord has become tired of Lucius' less than enthusiastic service. The assassination was his plan, but so was Lucius' arrest. He ordered Bellatrix to testify; he won't break Lucius free."

Silence followed Draco's words. Everyone had thought, much like Draco, that Lucius Malfoy would never be held accountable for his actions, that he would never be reprehended. The idea that Lucius would be Kissed, that the Malfoy patriarch would fall…it was unthinkable.

"Sweet Merlin," said Mr. Weasley softly, but his inflection could neither be read as celebratory or sympathetic.

"It's the end of the Malfoy family," said Draco, an odd note in his voice. Regret or simply incredulity? He looked back to Bill.

"Will you come?" he asked.

Bill nodded, needing no time to think.

"Of course," he said.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Ummm, so bad place to end, I know. I'm sorry. Also, I didn't edit this at all. Again, school is seriously kicking my butt right now. I've never been this busy. The good news is, next semester it will not be this busy. As for now, sorry for the delays. Please leave a review if you're scared for Lucius!


	25. Difficult Goodbyes

Disclaimer: I can dream….

Author's note: Nope, I didn't die. I just suffered writers block, even though I knew what was going to happen. It seems odd, I know, but for some reason, I just couldn't get this chapter right. Then again, it does have Lucius in it, and all of the chapters with him are just a struggle. So, I apologize profusely for the wait.

oOoOoOo—oOoOoOo—oOoOoOo—oOoOoOo—oOoOoOo

Draco waited in his study for Bill to get ready. He gazed over all the work he had done, the runes spread across the table, the notes on the counter to Veritaserum, and Slytherin's knife and his own copy behind it on the bookcase. Suddenly, it all felt worthless. What did any of it matter?

He sat on the piano bench and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. His coat was thick and long, but he was still cold. He stared at the floor.

The door swung open and Ginny entered, not bothering to knock. She didn't say a word, but simply sat next to him. After a moment, she slid closer and slipped her arm through his, leaning her head on his shoulder. She was the one leaning on him, but for some reason, he felt comforted. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and grabbed onto her fingers, wanting more of that contact.

"You're freezing," said Ginny, straightening and cupping both hands around his. He half-turned to keep them close, and breathed the scent of her hair. Lavender and vanilla, the shampoo she used this morning. Lavender was said to be a relaxant.

She reached up and brushed his hair away from his face.

"Ginny," he said.

She looked into his eyes, her own gaze gentle, full of….Her eyes were warm, and kind, and something more, something he equated with Lukas.

"Ginny, I screwed up," he said, to put a stop to that expression.

"I know," she said, and then she smiled softly, eyes still shining.

He wanted to draw back, wanted to turn away, but he couldn't.

"I might screw up again," he said. "What if I made another mistake and sprang Lucius from Azkaban?"

"Could you?" she asked.

"It probably wouldn't work."

"Are you going to?"

"What if I wanted to?"

"Draco, you can _want_ to spring your father from prison. You're supposed to want to do those things for the ones you love."

"But what if I did?"

"Then I would understand. If you did, then you must have some reason to make it right."

"But I don't know what's right," said Draco, frustrated. "I don't have this sense of right and wrong like you. I wasn't taught to think of it."

"It's not what we're taught, it's what we know. You'll find, when the time comes, that you understand better than you think you do."

Draco shook his head. "I don't. It's all too new and it's…it's hard, and I don't think it should be." He looked over at her and raised a hand to tug lightly at a strand of her hair. "How do you do it?" he asked. She must know some secret. After all, she had the Dark Lord in her head for a time and still maintained her morality.

"I had a firm grounding in right and wrong when I was younger," she said. "But, I also learned the art of empathizing with others, putting myself in their position. It's just a little harder for you because you won't let yourself feel the way others do. You analyze too much and shut off your emotions and then don't understand when we don't do the same." She leaned closer. "You'll learn."

Draco rested his forehead against hers. "I think I'm past the age to acquire a conscience. You'll have to be that voice for me. Tell me when I don't understand; tell me what the rest of the world is feeling."

"Don't depend on me like that," said Ginny. "I'll just hold you back."

"Never," said Draco.

"Sometimes I think you put too much faith in me," said Ginny.

"And you expect the best from me far too often."

She gave him a measured look. "I remain completely unconvinced of that," she said. "You're not as bad as you would like to think you are, and until the day you murder hundreds of people based on fathers or hair color or clothing choice, I will always expect the best from you. You've just never had to be accountable to anyone else for your actions before. You excuse your behavior to yourself by twisting logic into any shape you want. That doesn't work here, not with us, but I will always have faith in you."

She smiled, and Draco, feeling incredibly weary but incredibly blessed in that moment, closed his eyes. Her hand brushed his hair, and then her lips pressed against his in a chaste, sweet kiss. Then her cheek was against his, and both her arms were around his neck, and he felt neither strangled or in danger. His arms encircled her waist.

Draco breathed in and then let it out slowly. He pressed every little detail into his memory, the scent of her hair, the warmth of her skin, the awkward angle he was sitting in, everything.

"You should probably go," Ginny said, after a moment, and he opened his eyes to stare at the study wall.

"Probably," he said.

She disengaged from the embrace and gave him a smile. She was always smiling at him. Maybe she though he would catch on after a while.

"You know what, Draco Malfoy?" she asked. Her smile was one part caring, two parts playful, as if she had a secret she wanted to tell. He would have been more suspicious, but her eyes were still warm.

"What?" he asked, when she waited for his response.

She leaned in to whisper in his ear.

"I love you," she said.

Draco froze and pulled back. If he looked blank, or startled, or perfectly terrified, she didn't react in anger. Instead, she grinned, kissed his cheek, and then left. He heard her footsteps stop in the hall, and then Bill's voice. He couldn't make out any words, but at that moment, he had other things on his mind.

He got up and walked over to his bookcase. His hand was drifting over the bindings of his dark collection of books when he heard Bill enter.

"Are you ready?" asked Bill.

Draco turned around and nodded. He followed Bill to the Floo.

Ginny had done a good job of distracting him, if that had been her intent of confessing right before he went to go see his father for the last time, which Draco believed it was. If it had been anyone other than Ginny, he wouldn't have believed the words because they were too convenient, but Ginny wouldn't lie. Not about this. Not about loving him. _Loving_ him. The thought was a curious one. He knew that Bill thought of him as a brother, but this was different. Romantic love was more than affection, it was caring and devotion. It was a little bit of adoration.

He'd always thought it wasn't something to be wasted.

Draco spent the Portkey trip to the Ministry brewing over her words and even managed to ignore the suspicious stares of the Azkaban visitation officials. He filled out the visitation forms and answered their brief interrogation while staying passably polite. He and Bill relinquished their wands, and then it was another Portkey to the hidden, high security port which only had one dock, for the ferry to and from the island of Azkaban.

It was a cold day, dreary and grey, and if there was any more moisture in the air, it would be raining. Draco didn't pull out of his thoughts until they were on the boat, and then, as if a switch were thrown, nothing could keep his mind from Lucius.

He sat on the bench towards the prow of the boat. There was a covered seating area behind the captain's wheel, but spells and charms kept even Draco's seat warm and free from sea spray. Even if there weren't any spells, Draco wouldn't sit inside the enclosure. Four Azkaban guards were sitting in that area, along with two Aurors and another undercover Auror, disguised as a visitor, but Draco saw right through her affected mood of mourning.

Bill was speaking with the captain of the ferry now. Through it all, he had remained a silent, but supportive companion. Draco was grateful for the silence, and the grey skies that kept the Aurors and guards indoors.

He looked out over the water, iron grey and choppy, rising up in short angry bursts. The wind had picked up over the sea, and was whipping around the boat, but nothing more than a cold, salty draft snuck through the shielding charms.

Bill came back and reclaimed the seat next to him.

"Ten more minutes," he said.

Draco nodded, just to show he had heard him. Bill looked out at the water for a moment, but then turned back.

"Draco," he said, for the first time initiating the heart-to-heart Draco was hoping to avoid, "you don't have to do this. The minute you want to leave, we can. You are in no way obligated to see him."

"Aren't I?" Draco mused, not responding to Bill completely but merely considering the question.

"No," said Bill firmly.

Draco's lip quirked at the staunch support, but humorlessly.

"If this is going to…unduly upset you," said Bill, "then by no means should you go. He…I don't know if he deserves that sacrifice on your part."

"I'm not going to do drugs," said Draco. "If that's what you're referring to. I sincerely doubt any of you are going to even let me leave the house unattended for the foreseeable future."

Bill may have whispered something along the lines of 'damn straight we aren't' under his breath. Draco didn't call him on it and turned back to the water.

"Do you love him?" Bill asked suddenly.

Draco didn't answer, but he frowned in thought.

"I'm sorry," said Bill. "It's not my place to interfere."

"I'm not angry at the question," said Draco, "I'm just thinking."

If he had to think to answer, did that mean he didn't?

"It's okay to be confused about it," said Bill, proving that he was far too attuned to Draco's thoughts.

"Yes," said Draco. "I love him and I hate him, if that's possible."

"Very possible," said Bill. "And, in your case, I would say very understandable."

Draco nodded. "I don't want him to go this way. It would be better if he was killed, but this?" He shook his head. "The Dementors should have never been used in this way. It's inhumane and a disgrace. The body can live for years after the Kiss, like an animal, unable to think, only able to react. Brain damage, that's what the Kiss does, that's what happens when the soul is ripped away, and I can't…it's wrong. I can't have it this way."

He was still looking to the water, but glanced over when Bill touched his arm.

"I'm sorry," said Bill. "I wish… I wish I could tell you it would all be okay."

If it was all okay, it wouldn't be his life.

The boat was carefully guided into the small harbor five minutes later. The lone pier was long, housing a guard station at both ends and numerous security wards. The passengers unloaded single file, and then walked to the security detail that blocked their entrance to the prison. There were eight guards there, twice the number usually present, and the additional four from the boat. Draco and Bill, and the undercover Auror, were instructed to step through a sensory portal, which would scan them for any weapons or illegal wands.

Apparently the guards weren't entirely satisfied, because they checked Draco with additional spells and then had him place his hands on the wall and frisked him the Muggle way, patting down his waist, legs and arms.

"Seriously?" he heard Bill ask. "He's a seventeen year old kid, and there are twelve of you. Is this entirely necessary?"

The guards didn't pay him any mind, but Draco finally passed their examination.

"Alright," said the oldest guard. "This way."

Four guards led them to the prison, the rest bringing up the rear in an odd sort of processional. The visitor entrance was right off the pier, through a door and down a tall stone hallway, lit by windows twenty feet up the wall.

It was a dismal, stark welcome, but it brought relief from the biting wind. There were heating charms here, but although Draco could feel the warmth on his skin, a chill had seized his heart. It was a gradual feeling, starting when the boat had reached the harbor, but it came on so slowly it was easy to mistake it for the biting wind. Once inside, it became obvious that it was more than cold. It was dread and fear. This was the influence of the Dementors.

The Dementors were not allowed in this section of the prison, but there were no wards against the despair that trickled from their black hoods. With recent events, mainly the attack on the Ministry, less than half of the creatures remained, but a worry still toyed with the edges of Draco's mind. His heart beat faster; his fists clenched.

Draco and Bill were led into the waiting room, which offered a few chairs and the walls were painted pale blue. It must have been an attempt at cheer, but with the affect of the Dementors, the blue appeared to be the color of ice.

Upon entry, a guard brought over the visitors' cloaks for Draco and Bill and the plainclotheswoman. They were canary yellow, which served to keep the visitors clearly marked, but also functioned as protection against the Dementors. Warming charms were woven through the fabric, alongside strong cheering spells. The guard's uniforms were even more protected, but even so, no guard worked more than eight hours a day.

Draco wrapped the cloak around him, unable to despise the color when the relief it brought was tangible. Not complete, but comforting.

They waited a few moments before the door leading to the cells opened. The Head Warden stood there, casting an assessing gaze over Draco and Bill. He had, of course, been forewarned of the visit before they had boarded the ferry.

"All settled then?" he asked.

"Yes," said Draco.

"Follow me," said the Warden.

Draco did, Bill trailing behind. Six guards and one Auror followed. The Warden led them through a locked and warded door and down another hallway. They passed through two more doors, which scanned them yet again, and then they ascended a curved, stone staircase to the second floor.

Here, the most dangerous criminals were kept, cold-blooded assassins and crazed serial-murderers. The hallway was wide, well lit, and on one side, it was possible to see into the cells. There were no bars or doors, like in Muggle prisons. Instead, a barrier of pure magic acted as a fourth wall. The guards could see in, but the prisoners could not see out. The barrier, from the cell, would feel and act like another stone wall.

Draco stared as he walked past, recognizing the occupants from newspapers. Some were sprawled in the middle of their cells, their mouths open in screams that did not breach the magic wall. Others were huddled on filthy mattresses, covering their ears, rocking back and forth. Some were crazed, running around, faces red from noiseless shouts, tearing at their hair and ragged robes.

The Warden stopped at the very last cell. For a moment, Draco didn't want to look inside, afraid of what he might see, but he swallowed and pushed the emotions aside. He lifted his head.

Lucius Malfoy was not behaving like the other prisoners; he was seated at a desk his power and influence had allowed him to acquire. He also had a real bed. Each item, of course, was specifically crafted to be tamperproof, made without joints or hinges so that no part of it could be broken off and used as a weapon.

"Twenty minutes," said the Warden, turning to look at Draco and Bill. "Wards will only let one person through at a time." He pulled two keys out of his pocket. "These will let you through the wards on either side. If you break it," he mimed snapping it in half, "it will bring you right back here in a second. Only use it last case scenario though. The ride isn't a pleasant one, if you catch my meaning."

These Portkeys would take travelers through impenetrable wards. Unpleasant would be an understatement, but he assumed, if one was being attacked by a crazed resident of Azkaban, it would no doubt be a better alternative. Draco reached out and then pocketed the key. Bill took one as well and then turned to Draco.

"Do you want me to go in with you?" he asked.

Draco glanced over at the cell, then back at Bill. He shook his head.

"No, I'll be fine."

Bill nodded. "Just don't let him get to you. You don't have to stay. Come right back out if you need to."

"I'll be fine, Bill," Draco said again, more firmly this time.

"Right," said Bill.

Draco turned to the cell and then walked purposefully towards the wards, not hesitating until he reached the barrier. The wards were thick, and moving through them was like moving through molasses. The air was pressed tight and stale, there was a faint buzzing in his ears, and it was almost warm inside, warm with a cloying scent that made Draco want to sneeze.

He finally pushed through the last of the wards, staggering a little when he stepped into thin air and not the heavy, pressing charms. His eyes flickered over the room once, taking in further details of the room. It was larger than one would think a prison cell would be, to give the Aurors maneuvering space in case of a difficult prisoner, and the furniture was magically sealed to the ground. Even the chair at the desk was melded to the floor. The room was lit by sunlight through the long, skinny windows at the very top of the wall, and by an indestructible glow-sphere on the desk. It, too, was bolted down.

Lucius was sitting at the desk when Draco entered. He had a few loose pieces of parchment in front of him and a quill that would spontaneously combust if it touched anything other than the parchment and the prisoner's hand. His father slowly, very slowly, looked over.

Draco suddenly wondered if this was a good idea. From this side, the wall made up of wards looked convincingly like a stone wall, and he felt a stir of claustrophobia brought on by the blank look in his father's eyes.

Lucius had been blank before, unreadable in his non-expression, but even then, there was a presence about Lucius, a direction. Now, the grey eyes were vacant, as if Lucius had retreated so far into himself, nothing was left.

His physical appearance had suffered as well. He was wearing thick, expensive robes (even in prison, Lucius was commanding), but the cloth simply hung on his frame, loose and drab. His hair, which normally shone with golden light, was white, still brushed and tidy, but flat. There were lines on his face and shadows under his eyes.

Anyone else might not notice the changes, or at least, require a good deal of study before picking them out, but to Draco, they were glaring. For one brief moment, Draco was unable to equate this man to his father.

Lucius now regarded him with those lost, blank eyes, and shaken, Draco spoke.

"Lucius."

The grey eyes sparked with recognition, and suddenly Lucius was there in the cell with him. Draco would have been relieved, but the spark was still in his father's eyes. It wasn't the look Draco was used to seeing directed at him. It wasn't a fond glance, or even an arrogant snub. It was the look a malicious man would give a worm on his path, the look Lucius gave to countless men before he destroyed them for insulting him.

"Well, look who has come to visit," said Lucius, his mouth spreading in a predatory smile.

Draco tried not to flinch at that smile.

"No doubt you think well of yourself, _Dragon_," Lucius continued, "for splitting with the Malfoy name just in time to avoid the scandal, but tell me, was it the Gryffindors' idea to come and gloat? It breaks my preconceived notions of the golden house, but it seems I have been wrong about a great many things this past week."

Draco took a step back because the look in Lucius' eyes had only grown in intensity, and because admitting to failings was something Lucius had never done before. He knew that the continued presence of Dementors, even with only half of the number remaining, would be enough to shake Dumbledore himself, but he hadn't thought his father was susceptible. Lucius, in his mind, had always been invincible.

He considered responding, but his brain seemed to have missed a connection. Lucius rose from his chair, an unknown intent in his movement.

"Of course, you would have known of the betrayal far before it happened. Genius, you say." Lucius curled his lip. "I've seen your genius, boy. Don't forget, even as you slander the Malfoy name to promote your reformed agenda, I was the one who raised you, who taught you how to succeed. Remember that when you lead Dumbledore's army in the name of righteousness. You are no saint. Your hands are still tainted."

Lucius must be unbalanced, but malevolence lent his voice a smooth hypnosis. He had always been eloquent, and his anger only thrilled his words.

"Dark magic still runs in your blood, no matter how many virginal Gryffindors' you bed. Were you hoping, after my demise, to find a place among the Weasley paupers? You have to understand you will never belong with them. I've made sure of that, boy. You had no one in an entire palace except myself. Did you think you could replace me so easily?"

Lucius advanced, and rather than step back through the wards, Draco side-stepped, but Lucius still closed in on him. Draco retreated until his back hit the stone wall, and still Lucius pressed in, trapping him against the wall without making physical contact.

Draco knew, right then, that he must have been insane to visit his father. Did he think a death sentence would endear him to his father? Lucius never forgot, and never forgave. Draco had betrayed him, and now he was taking his vengeance.

"What was it you were hoping to achieve by your visit?" Lucius inquired, almost genially. "Was it a portion of your inheritance? Raising an army is an expense not many people can afford. Are you the financier for Dumbledore's mission? Or did you simply wish to reclaim the house you called home and relive the days you drowned in luxury? It won't be yours, Draco. Did you think I would give it to you, a prize for the prodigal son?"

Now Lucius' hand clasped his jaw, tipping his face up, the grip tightening painfully until he looked into those cold grey eyes.

"The only thing I give you is the knowledge that the Malfoy name will be redeemed. Once the lands are in the possession of the Dark Lord, the glory of the family will be restored, but you will be struck from every book, and every history. All those who knew you will perish, and you, you will be forced to remember me. For every day of the remainder of your life, you will remember your betrayal of the name you still hold, but when tomorrow comes, I will no longer think of you. That is what I give you now, Draco, a memory to torment your nights and to haunt your days. And I will be free of you."

The last was punctuated with a shove, not hard, just enough to snap Draco out of his terrified silence. Lucius pulled his hands away as if disgusted and stepped back.

"Get out," he ordered in a hiss.

Draco pushed himself from the wall, hand rising to reach out.

"Father," he said, the word slipping out without thought. "I didn't…," Draco stepped forward, needing Lucius to understand he wasn't here for any monetary gain, but it was difficult to find words, and his voice caught awkwardly. "Father, I haven't… _please_."

The last slipped through when Lucius turned away. Desperation bled through his voice, and he clamped his mouth shut, biting off anything else that might slip from his lips, but it caused Lucius to pause.

"Draco," said a new voice, and Draco turned to see Bill, just stepped through from the wards, a steely look on his face. "Draco," said Bill again, "don't you _dare_ apologize to that man."

oOoOoOo—oOoOoOo—oOoOoOo—oOoOoOo—oOoOoOo

Bill had watched as Draco confronted his father, unable to hear what was said. It appeared Lucius was doing all of the talking, stalking forward, expression cold and terrifying, and Draco, the most fearless person he knew, nearly back straight into the wards. But Draco turned, and now Bill could see both profiles. Draco wasn't responding, staring at Lucius with widen, but guarded, eyes.

Lucius grabbed Draco's jaw, and suddenly Bill was afraid for the boy. Draco had the portkey; why wasn't he using it?

"Shit," said the Warden. "Is he insane?"

"I'm going in," said Bill.

"Absolutely not," said the Warden, but Bill hadn't been looking for permission. He was already stepping into the wards, fighting his way through as Lucius shoved Draco. He was relieved to see Malfoy step back, an expression of disgust twisting his features, and suddenly he was angry. He was more than angry; he was outraged. How dare he look at Draco in that way? He forced his way into the cell to hear Draco plead, "Father, I haven't…_please_."

He had never heard Draco so vulnerable, not when he was sick in the infirmary, not when he had a bloody hole through his arm, not even when he was crashing from an overdose of Angel-Flight. It made his fists clench.

"Draco," he said, causing the boy to look over. "Draco, don't you _dare_ apologize to that man."

He glared at the Malfoy patriarch, who stared back with a look of non-interest. Bill stepped over to Draco's side and put an arm on his shoulder.

"Let's go," he said. "You don't need to be here."

He tried guiding Draco back to the wards, but Draco turned with a cold stare.

"Draco, no," said Bill.

Draco shook his head, not answering in words, but Bill had seen that look before. It was one of utmost resolve. Knowing there was no use in arguing, Bill let him go with a sigh.

"He doesn't deserve this," he stated, completely matter-of-fact. He withdrew to the side of the cell and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not leaving though."

The corner of Draco's mouth twitched at his stubbornness, and he gave a small smile in return. He watched as Draco turned to his father once more, and for a full minute there was silence, both assessing each other, the tension rising. When Draco finally spoke, it was simply and in a calm voice.

"Your appeal won't go through," he said. "That's why I'm here now, before you're moved. I wouldn't have anyone else listening."

Lucius raised one eyebrow, the way Bill had seen Draco do so many times.

"Bill's a friend," said Draco, answering the expression.

There was silence again, less strained this time. Bill watched Draco's fingers tap against each other in a blur.

"I spoke with Aunt Bella, which is how I know," said Draco. "Spoke with doesn't quite cover the entire conversation, and I had to leave suddenly, so certain words weren't said. Now that I'm removed from the meeting, I've decided not to pursue another encounter. You may or may not understand my reasons."

Well, that was the most roundabout, vague way to say he had nearly killed his aunt for vengeance. Bill wondered, if he hadn't known the story, if he would have been able to deduce the true happenings. He would like to think yes, but the delivery had been so calm, so noncommittal, it was hard to believe Draco was speaking about murder.

"You forget with whom you speak," said Lucius. "I always understand, in the end."

There was meaning behind the older Malfoy's words, Bill knew that much, but what else did Lucius understand? Did he finally figure out that Draco was here to say goodbye?

Draco, for his part, looked strangely relieved at those words. His fingers slowed their pattern.

"Then you know," he said. "I never left you, just him."

Apparently in the Malfoy family, sub-subtext was a language they all spoke fluently.

"Can you really describe it as such?" asked Lucius in a hard voice.

"I kept the name!"

It wasn't quite a declaration from Draco, but they had been speaking in such cool, flat tones, that this little bit of inflection was nearly akin to a shout.

Draco continued, still speaking in that almost-impassioned tone.

"You refused to define yourself separately from him. There was no room for disagreement with him."

"We shared the same ideals."

"Don't take me for a fool. You could suffer through a reign of Muggle-borns if it was beneficial to you. This was your easiest way to power, and it was only an additional advantage that the both of you were Pureblood traditionalists."

"Don't take me for a simpleton. I had many reasons, ones that I have not discussed with you, nor is it necessary to explain them now. Not everyone is blessed with the fearless idiocy a supreme intellect apparently brings. He is a powerful man with great plans."

"But you know his plans are flawed, better than most. Did you expect me to follow without question?"

"I expected a little more faith."

"Well maybe I wasn't indoctrinated enough as a child," said Draco, a note of definite derision creeping into his voice.

"Is that why you're here?" asked Lucius, and he appeared to be amused at this new development. "To place the blame where it lies, to call me out on being an absent father? One final act of rebellion before there's no one left to rebel against?"

Bill saw Draco visibly catch himself from retorting. It seemed the Weasley temper was rubbing off on him, not that he didn't have a temper before, but he was usually so reserved. It was either that, or the seeping chill from the Dementors was etching away at his defenses. Even with the cloak, Bill still felt uneasy, vaguely fearful, though for no reason he could pinpoint. Bill wondered how Lucius Malfoy was still coherent.

Draco let out a soft breath. "No," he said. "I'm not here for that."

The warded wall cleared for one moment, and the Warden raised his hand in the five minute gesture. Bill saw Draco's eyes flicker. Five more minutes, and then Draco would never see Lucius again.

Bill would have said that was a good thing, if the whole 'never see Lucius again' wasn't paired with Lucius death, or rather, the sucking of his soul. He would have preferred a life sentence, or an exile. Still permanent, just less traumatic.

Bill saw Draco glance down, swallowing hard. He wanted to say something, or put his arm around the kid as it was obvious Lucius would do nothing to comfort his own son, his only child.

"I-," Draco started, but his voice caught. He took a breath a forged on. "I wanted to say to you before…before you…"

Again Draco stopped. Bill saw him turn his head, his mouth twisting with the words that wouldn't form. One pale hand was raised to run through his hair, completely ruffling the white-blond locks.

"Merde," Draco whispered, so softly he might have only mouthed the word.

Bill looked to Lucius but he should have realized the Malfoy patriarch would be infinitely harder to read than Draco. All he could tell was that Lucius was listening. His gaze was locked onto Draco's face and he was completely still except for the silent breaths he took.

Draco glanced to Bill, just for a split-second, and then he turned back to Lucius.

"There were things I wanted to tell you," he said. "Things that I could say years from now, but not today. It's too soon." His voice was strong, and colored with regret, but unapologetic. Bill felt a surge of pride for him in that moment.

"You were right," Draco continued. "I only had you when I was younger, and you made yourself completely irreplaceable." Now his voice grew strained. "Does that give you satisfaction, Lucius? Even now, when I'm finally getting things right for the first time in my life, there's still you. Is that what you need to hear before you die? That I can struggle for salvation and still need your blessing?"

Bill wondered if Draco would be crying now if he had the ability. His voice was rough, and he was swallowing hard. Perhaps knowing he couldn't cry allowed him a sense of freedom, allowed him to be freer with his emotions because they would never culminate in tears. Or perhaps it was the Dementors that had him so unhinged.

Perhaps he was simply a teenage boy telling his father goodbye.

"I kept the name," said Draco, voice soft, "I kept the name because I wanted to keep you."

Draco held his father's gaze.

"I don't want you to die."

The statement sounded young, but then again, Draco wasn't very old. Bill saw Lucius' grey eyes lighten, almost imperceptibly. Draco cast one glance to the warded wall, and then he stepped forward, quickly, as if he was afraid he would lose his nerve, and he wrapped his arms around his father.

Bill dropped his gaze at the fumbled, stilted embrace, but he couldn't help but watch out of his peripheral vision. After the initial hesitation and falter, Draco clung to his father, his face buried in the silk robes Lucius was apparently allowed to wear.

Draco didn't hold on for long, just long enough for Lucius to raise his own hands. He didn't pull his son closer, or push him away, his hands simply pressed once on Draco's shoulders.

Draco took a step back, eyes flickering to Lucius' face, and then he turned for the warded wall. He took two steps away from his father.

"Draco," said Lucius, stopping his progress for one moment. Bill watched, hoping that he might say something that would make this whole ordeal worthwhile to Draco. He wasn't expecting an 'I love you', but something along those lines would be nice.

"I never needed another child," Lucius said.

Bill felt, as heart-warming farewells went, the words were sorely lacking, but he saw Draco's face, and saw the softening of the expression, the faint tilt of the lips. He supposed, in Malfoy-speak, it might be the equivalent to 'I care for you'.

Draco didn't respond, but took one more step into the wards, pushing his way through. Bill could see his progress and it looked as if he was melting through solid stone. He would be stuck here, with Lucius Malfoy, for another minute or so.

He wasn't expecting a conversation, but he could feel Lucius' gaze on him and had to turn. Lucius' stare didn't waver. His eyes were narrowed, but Bill didn't feel it was supposed to be a threat. The grey eyes, so like Draco's, slid away in dismissal.

"I can see why he trusts you," said Lucius indifferently. "You remind me of someone I once knew."

"Lukas," said Bill, but Lucius gave no reaction to the name. "Draco told me that once."

There was a short pause, then, "I suppose you're proud of yourself for interfering in his life."

"He's an amazing young man," said Bill. "I count myself lucky to be a part of his life."

His dig at Lucius' absence only earned him a bemused sort of condescension. Bill wished the wards weren't quite so thick. Lucius was starting to irritate to him.

"I suppose," Lucius drawled, "as Gryffindors, you'll have to look after him. He is the only chance you have, after all."

Was that a request to look after Draco? Bill didn't think much of Lucius after this past encounter, but he remembered that Lucius had done some good for his son. Still, Bill was of the opinion that if the person you loved didn't know that you did, it really didn't do any good for anyone involved.

His lack of response caused Lucius to turn, and suddenly the grey eyes were narrowed in the promise of pain. Draco's gaze, while intimidating, had lost most of its effect on Bill. Seeing the original, directed solely at him, was terrifying. Bill straightened, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. Well, that was a clear sign Lucius did care.

"We'd look after him even if he was an average student," he promised.

Lucius snorted and leaned back against the wall, apparently satisfied at his response.

"He would never be ordinary. He's a Malfoy."

Bill raised his eyebrows, because Lucius had been the one to disown Draco, but the Malfoy patriarch was no longer interested in him. He was watching Draco's form gradually disappear through the wards with a furrowed brow.

"It is curious," Lucius Malfoy mused, once Draco was completely out of sight, safe on the other side, "I had thought, when the arrest came, that I was ready to leave this world, but now… now I find that this is not a time of my choosing."

It was curious. Bill had no idea what he meant, and with one last, puzzled look, he stepped into the wards.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo—oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo—oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

I'm really sorry about the wait. However, I have broken from my funk, and writing again, speedily. Well, not exactly speedily, but at a steady pace. So, I'll try for next week, and if not then, definitely in two weeks. If I don't, feel free to throw things at me, or leave angry messages. Please leave a review! And, next chapter, we find out what happens to Lucius. Excited? I am! (grins)


	26. Death Can Be a Form of Rescue

Disclaimer: I love men with white-blond hair. I own none.

Author's note: Um, I'm two hours late. Sorry about that. I also apologize for the tears this chapter may cause.

oOoOoOo—oOoOoOo—oOoOoOo—oOoOoOo—oOoOoOo

Draco had to force himself to wait for Bill outside his father's cell, and once the red-haired man emerged, he started down the hall, not even waiting for the guards and not slowing when the Warden called for him to stop for the escort. The guards had to run to catch-up, but Bill simply fell into step beside him, not asking any questions.

Draco didn't waste any time in the prison, pausing at the exit only long enough to return the yellow cloak and give a cursory nod of thanks to the Warden. Then he was outside, striding down the pier for the ferry.

Once he had taken off the cheering cloak, the choking presence of the Dementors hit him full blast. It was all he could do not to shiver. By the time they reached the ferry, his muscles were fully tensed to the point of trembling, but it was the only thing holding him together. He walked to the prow of the boat again, avoiding the guards and undercover Auror. He needed privacy and space.

He very nearly collapsed onto the bench that ran along the sides of the ferry, and then he gripped the edge of the seat and held on with white knuckles. Bill didn't say anything, not until the ferry finally started and pulled away from the island prison. With each second, the freezing pressure slowly eased, and when Azkaban was fading from sight, Draco took in a deep, shuddering breath. He pried his hands from the bench, but they were shaking, so he grabbed back on and tried to take another breath.

"Draco," said Bill. "Are you-?"

"Not now," Draco cut him off. "Just…don't. Not now, please." His voice was desperate.

"What can I do?" asked Bill.

Draco clamped his mouth shut on a cold, unsteady laugh. "Talk to me," he said. "Distract me."

"What do you want to talk about?" asked Bill.

"I don't know," said Draco. "What about Snape? He was supposed to set up a potions lab in the basement of the Order before Christmas. Where do you think he's been?"

Bill looked quite taken off-guard. "Um, maybe he's working with Dumbledore on something?"

"We were going to work on the counter for Veritaserum. Not much is more important than that," said Draco. He shook his head. "He must be working with the Dark Lord then. But what would keep him that long? Unless, of course, the Dark Lord is purging his troops, which would make sense. He's regained his strength, and now has to turn his attention to his army. Fudge, before he was killed, was starting to gather intelligence on his movements. He can't take any risks. He probably has Snape working on Veritaserum and holding interrogations." He was rambling, the words spilling out of his mouth. Vocalizing his thoughts was one of the best ways to keep his mind occupied.

"But he'd make Snape take the serum too, wouldn't he?" asked Bill, frowning in concern.

Draco scoffed. "A master like Snape would easily be able to taint his own dose of Veritaserum. Still, it's been long, even for a purging. He must be bringing in his recruits from Europe as well, consolidating his forces and sources of revenue."

"I thought he'd be working on getting his horcrux," said Bill.

"Even he has to research. Fifteen years is a long time to track a thief. If he's purging his troops, it means he's planning an offensive. Probably right after he does find his horcrux. Tierney will keep the Aurors away from the Death Eaters, and keep the country unprepared for an attack."

"So what do we do?" asked Bill. His questions helped Draco stayed focused on the topic at hand.

"Get Tierney out of the Ministry. It'll be hard, but not impossible. He thinks he has more support in the Dark Lord than he actually does. The Dark Lord never needed him. He's useful, not irreplaceable. Now that Lucius-,"

Draco cut himself off, because that was one trouble with trying to distract himself from his father. Everything seemed to come back to him. He sucked in a quick breath, Bill leaned forward, but then he was talking again, words tripping out.

"I mean, the Dark Lord was going to get what he could out of Tierney, but keeping him in office might prove to be too much effort. The Dark Lord isn't – you know, that's a really stupid name. 'The Dark Lord'. It's a proper title, did you know that? Someone who was versed in the dark arts could claim it, and most of them never used the dark magic for evil purposes. They would be called in for certain situations, werewolves, vampires, medical emergencies sometimes, you know, that sort of stuff. They stopped using it a few hundred years ago when the Dark Lord Toroth started a small war in the Austrian region. He made the title rather unpopular."

"Understandable," said Bill.

"And now Voldemort has to go ruin it again. I could claim the title dark lord, pull some of that prestige from him. That would piss him off, don't you think?"

"I don't think you need to do anything more to piss him off."

Draco gave a harsh laugh. "Probably true. Next time he sees me he might throw the Avada and not just a crucio. Wouldn't be able to Portkey from that one, would I? Of course, if I rigged the Portkey to activate at the presence of an Unforgiveable, I-,"

"Draco, do you mean to say that Voldemort hit you with the Cruciatus last night?" asked Bill, obviously startled and concerned.

Draco hadn't meant to let that slip, but now that it was out, he couldn't bring himself to care enough to backtrack. "Just for a second," he said.

"Draco," said Bill again, in a very even tone of voice, "do you realize that right now you're shivering so hard it's a miracle you're staying on your seat?"

Draco looked down, confused, thinking that he had himself under control, but he was still trembling, wasn't he? He pulled his hands from the edge of the bench and held them up. His hands were shaking uncontrollably.

"Is this because of the Cruciatus?" asked Bill.

"I don't-," Draco started, too startled to think, but then he grabbed onto his coat and tried to clear his mind. "The body's reaction to the Cruciatus curse is to flood the brain with endorphins. It helps block the pain and calm the nerves. The presence of the Dementors prevents the release of endorphins, creating a 'crash' or a withdrawal of sorts."

"Is that a yes?"

"It's just a slight reaction. From too much to block the remaining effects of the Cruciatus to none at all. Now my brain is trying to find a balance. Can't settle down."

The truth was, the Cruciatus normally wore off after a matter of hours, and surely twelve hours later, the brain shouldn't need to keep releasing endorphins, but the Dark Lo – _Voldemort _was stronger than the average wizard now. Hell, he was probably stronger than Dumbledore. Allowing for extra recovery time, yes, the Dementors would have affected him, but it shouldn't be by this much. He should feel unsettled, maybe frightened. He shouldn't be shaking.

It must be shock, that was the only explanation. Even those emotionally detached could feel strong emotions, they just didn't know what to do with them.

"Are you in pain? Do you need to go to St. Mungo's?"

Draco shook his head. "No, it'll just take a while longer to calm down. I'll be fine in a few minutes."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

And he did, gradually, stop shaking. By the time the ferry reached the harbor, his body had calmed, and only a faint tremor shook him when he moved to fast. The Portkey from the harbor took them to the Ministry where they retrieved their wands, and then they Flooed through to the Order Headquarters.

Draco tried not to become attached to places. They were physical settings that couldn't always guarantee protection or harbor, but when he saw the old wall-papered walls, and breathed in the scent of lily and cinnamon (Mrs. Weasley was undoubtedly cooking, and there were lily-scented candles in the kitchen and living room), he felt safe. The outside world couldn't reach him here.

_But you're still here_, said the voice of Lord Draco in his head. _You've brought the world with you. Did you think you could simply forget what you had done?_

"-co? Draco, are you alright?"

Draco jerked his head up. Sirius, Harry and Ron were at the dining room table, a game of wizard's chess between them, Sirius obviously on Harry's team. The question hadn't come from them though. Mrs. Weasley had peeked in from the kitchen and she looked a little concerned.

"I'm fine, thanks," said Draco. He immediately regretted the last word, because Harry and Ron exchanged a look. Sirius got up from the table and went into the kitchen.

"Do you need any tea, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "Or some hot chocolate? You look a little pale."

"Well, nothing new then," said Ron.

Draco actually appreciated the bit of levity. It was normal. He wanted normal so he could push the day away.

"I'm fine," he repeated, skipping the 'thanks' this time.

Sirius came back with a small glass of whiskey.

"I don't think," Bill started, but Sirius was already passing it off to Draco.

Draco downed the glass in a long swallow, welcoming the burn down his throat. He put the empty glass on the table.

"I'm going to my room," he said.

He walked up the stairs, not really able to move any faster. He was still cold and still a little shaky. When he finally got to his room, he let the door swing shut and collapsed face first on his bed. He rolled to his side and stared at the wall, curled up, hands close to his chest and gripping each other. His nails dug into his skin. What had he done?

_Nothing I haven't_, said Lord Draco.

'Shut up,' he told himself. 'Shut up!'

His hands went to his head.

_That's not going to help_, said Lord Draco.

Draco pressed his hands tighter against his temples.

_Oh, come now, don't be shy_, said Lord Draco.

Draco clenched his jaw, trying to force the voice out of his head, but he had always been his best tormentor. He closed his eyes when they stung and swallowed when pressure rose in his throat.

_You don't have the right to cry, even if you could. Look what you did!_

Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shu-

"Draco?"

Draco started and turned towards the door. Ginny was standing there, her hair in loose curls falling around her face and over her shoulders. She was wearing a white sweater. She could have been an angel.

"I knocked," she said. "But you didn't…are you alright?"

Draco nodded, and took in a breath to speak, but the air rushed in with a gasp, and then Ginny was beside him, sitting on the bed next to him. Her hands were soft against his face, and then he turned to her, wanting to hold her, but hesitating. She pressed herself to him, resting her head against his chest and reaching her arms around him. He gently placed his hands on her and then held tight. The voice in his head fell silent.

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Bill was exhausted, and it wasn't even his own father he had visited as Azkaban. It was no wonder the kid had been shaking on the trip back. That, and the revelation that he just may have had a brush with Voldemort the night before and gotten crucioed of all things. Was he the only one that felt that certain piece of information should have been shared?

He sat at the kitchen table, sipping at a cup of hot chocolate. He wanted to do nothing more than head up to his room and hold his son and kiss his wife, but he wanted to have a semblance of control before he did so. He still felt a bit cold.

So he finished his cocoa, and helped Harry and Sirius finally win a game of chess against Ron, and even then it was only because Ron started the game with half of his pieces. Apparently that was the only way Ron found the game even remotely exciting anymore.

He then went upstairs to the 'nursery'.

Fleur was sitting on their bed, sketches and swatches of cloth placed out over the duvet. She smiled when he came in and Bill quickly shut the door so he could indulge in a heated kiss with his wife.

"Mmm," said Fleur, when their lips finally parted. "What brought that on?"

"I'm so glad to be back," said Bill. "I'm so glad I have you." He leaned in again, letting this meeting of lips progress as slowly as he could stand. He pulled away only to check on Lukas who was sleeping in his crib.

He reached out to run a light finger over his cheek. Even in his sleep, the infant turned towards the touch, his tiny, cupid's lips sucking against each other.

"Don't wake him up," Fleur whispered. "He just got to sleep."

"I won't," Bill promised quietly. He retucked the blanket around him and then walked back to his wife, toeing off his shoes and sitting on the bed behind her. She leaned back against his chest, holding up two cloth squares and a picture.

"Which one?" she asked.

Bill looked at the sketch and then at the material. He honestly had no idea, but he pointed to the light blue.

"That one."

"You just like blue."

"You should have known I'd be biased."

"I like it too," said Fleur. She picked up a quill and then pulled up her legs so that she could make a note on the page, using her leg as a table. Her full weight was resting against Bill now. It felt right.

Bill leaned in, nuzzling her neck and then pressing a row of kisses across her creamy skin.

"Stop that," said Fleur, mock-scolding him. "I have work to do."

"You shouldn't be so distracting then," said Bill. He reached out, running a hand across her stomach, her skin blocked by the lilac shirt she was wearing. He found the hem and slipped his hand under, and then his fingers were there, skimming across warm, smooth skin. She was so soft.

"I have to get this set planned by the end of the week, Bill," Fleur warned him.

His hand slid up.

"Bill!" Fleur admonished in a whisper. "Lucas is asleep!"

"So we'll just have to be quiet then," said Bill. He nibbled at her earlobe. "I've missed you."

"I've been right here."

"You've been busy."

"So have you."

"You said no sex."

"Not until I get this baby fat off, Bill. I look ugly."

"You look fantastic."

"Bill."

"Perfectly edible."

"William."

"Gorgeous. Stunning. You are a goddess divine."

He tipped them over onto their sides and she rolled over to face him.

"Fine," she said, a mischievous light in her clear blue eyes. "But you'll have to make an effort not to yell."

"I think you might be in more danger of that outlet," said Bill, ready for this challenge.

Her hand went right there. "Care to bet?" she asked.

They managed not to wake Lukas, even though things definitely got above a whisper. Afterward, with half of Fleur's sketches on the floor, Bill lay on his side, Fleur spooned against him. He felt incredible, like he had never been to Azkaban in the first place.

"I love you," he told Fleur.

"And I love you."

A knock on the door caused him to groan, but he got up and pulled on his trousers. When he opened the door, Ron was standing there with a letter in his hands. His younger brother looked at him and screwed up his face in disgust.

"Ugh. Could you at least make an effort to look like you haven't just shagged?"

Bill rolled his eyes. "What's up, Ronny?"

Ron scowled at the name and handed over the letter. "This just came in from the Floo."

Ron gave him one last, grossed out look and then walked back downstairs. Bill looked at the address on the letter and frowned.

"What is it?" asked Fleur, joining him by the door, only clad in his t-shirt. She had never looked sexier.

"It's from France," said Bill. He shut the door and leaned against it as he opened the letter and scanned the message. "Sweet Merlin," he whispered.

"What?"

"It's Michael."

"Who?"

"Julien Michael Barrett," said Bill. He handed the letter to her and then grabbed his wand from the bedside table. "He was in a coma. They said he probably wasn't going to survive, but he just woke up. They think he'll make a complete recovery."

He performed a few cleaning spells on himself and began to change into clean clothes.

"Are you going to see him?" asked Fleur.

"He doesn't know that his father is dead," said Bill. "I think he might want to hear it from someone who was there."

Fleur watched him get ready then, as he was brushing his hair, asked, "Aren't you forgetting someone?"

Bill turned, frowning.

"Draco," Fleur prompted. "Lucius' appeal is in a few hours, and he'll be Kissed tomorrow morning."

Bill sighed and ran a hand through his hair, completely negating his recent brushing. "I forgot about the appeal, not the execution."

"He's going to need you."

"No, I know. It's just…,"

"This is what happens when too many people like you. Next time you shouldn't be so nice."

Bill gave a tired laugh and looked back to the mirror.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?" Fleur asked.

"For always being pulled around by other people. You do know I love you most, right?"

Fleur joined him at the bureau. "Of course," she said. She leaned up for a kiss. "And if you weren't always running to someone's rescue, you wouldn't be you. And I like you just fine the way you are."

"You're amazing," said Bill.

"I know," Fleur smiled. "Now go get on your white horse."

"Yes, milady," said Bill.

He was at Draco's door five minutes later. He knocked lightly and then opened the door.

Draco was half-reclined on his bed, propped up by pillows. His eyes were closed and Ginny lay curled up in his arms. She turned when Bill opened the door.

'He asleep?' Bill mouthed at her, but then Draco blinked his eyes open and turned as well.

"Bill," he said, pulling his arms back from around Ginny, causing her to sit up as well.

"Hey, sorry to wake you," said Bill. "Listen, Draco, I have to leave for a few. Julien Barrett woke up."

"The Curator's son," said Draco.

"Yeah, and I think I should be there, just for a little while."

Bill could be wrong, but he swore he saw a moment of panic in Draco's eyes. Just a flash of turmoiled silver, and then nothing.

"I'll be back this evening," he promised. "No later than seven, even if I have to swim the Channel to get here."

Draco shrugged. "Yeah, sure," he said. "You should be there."

"And I'll be back this evening," Bill said again, because he saw Draco's hand, saw the way his fingers were fumbling their pattern.

"Yeah, you said."

"And don't listen to the appeal. You don't need to, so forget about it, okay?"

Draco shrugged again.

"Draco, I'm serious. Don't listen to the radio."

"Fine," said Draco, but his voice was soft. The grey eyes glanced down.

"Okay," said Bill. "I'm sorry. Go back to sleep."

"I wasn't sleeping."

"Resting then."

Draco shrugged for a third time. "I'm up now. I think I might get some work done."

Bill nodded as well, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.

"Well, I'll see you at seven," he said.

He left, hearing Ginny try to cajole Draco into lying back down, but the genius wasn't listening. Bill sighed, but headed down the stairs. He grabbed his coat from the closet and then Flooed out to the International Portkey Station.

The station was busy. It was to be expected as the last of the families traveled home after the holidays. The lines were long and it looked as if most of the Keys were booked. Still, Bill stood in line at the ticket booth in hopes that he would find a spot open relatively soon. He glanced at the clock. He promised Draco he would be back by seven, and he meant to keep his word. Still, if the line didn't move any faster, he wouldn't even make it to France.

Forty-five minutes later, Bill stepped up to the counter.

"Hi," he said, giving the attendant a smile. Any hopes he had that a friendly demeanor would sneak him onto the next available lift died at the woman's sour expression. "I need the next Portkey to Paris."

She glanced down at the book in front of her. "Four o'clock," she said.

"Four?" Bill repeated. An hour and a half away. That would give him three hours to get to the hospital, visit Julien, tell him his father was dead, and make it back to the Order.

"Four," she said again. "And that's forty galleons."

Bill winced, but handed over his Gringott's charm. "I don't suppose you could make that a round trip?" he asked.

"Five, six or eight."

"What?"

"You can come back at five, six or eight today."

"Six, please," said Bill.

"That's sixty-five galleons total."

Bill sighed. "Thanks," he said.

He spent the hour and a half wait in the lounge area, not that a lounge really described the thinly padded chairs. The radio was playing, set on a classical station. Bill was glad. Lucius' appeal was at three, and while it was a closed hearing, the news channels would report from outside the closed doors until the verdict came in. Bill had no desire to listen to the news. He was avoiding it like Draco was…hopefully.

Twenty minutes into the wait and he broke from the boredom and bought a paper-back novel from the tiny bookstore in the station. It was part of a series that Bill had seen around. Honestly, it wasn't any good.

He boarded the lift-like box exactly at four and held onto the handles hanging from the ceiling. It was crowded, all space taken. The witches in the corner were whispering about something in the paper they were reading, but Bill didn't pay them any mind. He waited impatiently for the doors to slide shut, and once everyone was boarded, the doors slide shut. Instead of feeling the rise and drop of a normal lift, there was a jerking sideways pull. An older gentleman bumped into Bill and apologized profusely.

"I just can't believe it," one of the witches was saying. "I mean, were there even guards?"

The doors whooshed open and Bill fought his way out of the lift and into the Portkey Station of Paris. This terminal was just as busy, but for some reason, it was quieter. Wizards and witches were huddled in groups, exchanging newspapers and shaking their heads. Bill could see the stores in the station were swamped with costumers grabbing at the newspaper and exclaiming over the headline. He felt a cold dread rise in his stomach.

"Excuse me," he said, stopping the two English witches and they exited the lift. "May I see your newspaper?"

"You can have it," said the witch. "I've read it already."

Bill walked to the wall where he would be out of the way and slowly raised the paper. It was an emergency update paper, consisting of two pages, nothing more. He stared, swore, and stared again. The headline said everything, but he had to read the rest.

**LUCIUS MALFOY COMMITS SUICIDE IN PRISON**

**Lucius Malfoy was found dead in his cell by Azkaban guards and Aurors this afternoon before his last appeal. The cause of death was a knife to the chest. Aurors are confident that this was suicide. An investigation is underway to determine how Malfoy came into the possession of the weapon.**

**Lucius Malfoy was imprisoned for the death of Minister Cornelius Fudge…**

And the article went on to describe the charges and trial of Lucius. Bill let the paper drop when he had finished reading it and walked over to the ticket counter. The attendants there were whispering, looking at the picture on the front, depicting the prison of Azkaban.

"Hi," said Bill. "I need the first Portkey you have for England."

The Portkey they had was at four-thirty, but he came in at Dover, not London. Because it was a smaller station, he had to take the Knight bus into London. Luckily he was able to convince the driver it was an emergency and he was dropped off first on Grimmauld Street, despite the other passengers' protests.

Bill ran into Number 12 as soon as it materialized. His mother met him at the door.

"Bill, you're here, thank Merlin."

"Where is he?" asked Bill.

"He's in his study. We heard the news not two hours ago, and we went in to tell him, and…," she stopped him in the dining room, where half of the family was gathered, newspapers on the table, radio on. "Bill, he's not talking."

"You're not pressuring him, are you?" asked Bill.

"We're not trying to, but he's pushing everyone away. He nearly had a fit when we first told him. Told us all to leave him alone and nearly threw an ink bottle at Sirius."

Bill glanced over to Sirius, but the man shrugged, apparently not at all offended.

"It's hard news to take," he said. "And we all know he must have been the one to bring Lucius the knife."

"We don't know that," said Molly. "And why would he anyway? It makes no sense."

"Because death is very much preferable than the Dementor's Kiss, especially in Pureblood families," said Sirius. "Hell, suicide was seen as an honorable way to deal with scandal."

"I don't give a shit if it is honorable," said Bill. "Is there someone with him now? Please tell me you didn't leave him alone."

"Ginny's with him," said Molly, sounding as if that situation wasn't to her liking at all. "She's the only he has threatened with bodily harm if he wasn't left alone."

"I'll go," said Bill, heading for the back room.

"Bill," said his mother, stopping his once more. "He's not even crying. If he really brought in the knife, then-,"

"He doesn't cry," said Bill, cutting her off before anyone could form notions about his reaction.

"Everyone cries," said Mrs. Weasley.

"No," said Bill, shaking his head. "His bitch of a mother put an anti-crying hex on him the day he was born, and left it on until he was seven. He doesn't cry because he can't."

And then he was turning again, nearly running down the hall to Draco's study. The door was halfway open, and Ginny was there, speaking softly. Draco was standing over the table, arms braced on the surface, hands gripping the edge like he had gripped the bench on the boat. He was tensed to the point of shaking.

Ginny had a hand on his shoulder, she was rubbing softly, and while he didn't react, didn't even look at her, he wasn't pushing her away.

Bill stepped into the room. Ginny looked over and whispered something in Draco's ear. There was no response. Ginny gave Bill a wan smile and then slipped out of the room. Bill watched Draco, then took a step forward.

"Draco," he said.

He watched as Draco shoved off from the table, spinning away, facing the wall.

Bill took another step forward.

"Draco," he said again.

"Don't," Draco ordered.

His voice made Bill winced. It was raw and strained, a raspy sound that came from repressed tears. Draco's tears weren't just repressed though, more like magically suppressed.

"I'm so sorry," said Bill.

"I said don't!"

The words were tinged with hysteria. Bill saw the hand that Draco raised to clench in his hair. He saw the way the white-blond strands were tugged and pulled.

"Draco," he said.

Draco turned, his grey eyes burning silver. He was shaking in fury, his jaw set and face white.

"Mon Dieu, won't you stop?" he ground out.

"If I had known, I wouldn't have left," said Bill.

He saw the self-control in Draco snap. Draco started in his direction, his eyes on the door. He was running. Bill did the only thing he could. He stepped in Draco's way.

Draco very nearly collided with his chest. He managed to stop, though, and then Bill wrapped his arms around him. Draco fought at first. He swore, and pushed at Bill's shoulders. He threatened and tried to step away. Bill held on.

He could feel the change, feel when Draco stopped struggling. Instead of pushing, Draco's hands found his coat and grasped the cloth. He was no longer leaning back, trying to escape, he was leaning into Bill, trying to stay standing. Bill held on tighter as Draco sagged in his arms.

The swearing had trailed off into gasps, gasps and hard swallows. Bill, with his arms around Draco, holding him up against his chest, could feel each and every choking breath.

It was ugly, the sounds Draco was making. It was hard and rasping and grating. There were no tears to ease the cries, no wet, flowing sobs. Every inhalation was a desperate battle, every exhale a pain-ridden release. Draco wasn't crying; it sounded like he was dying.

Bill held on a little tighter, his own eyes stinging and tears finally slipping down his cheeks.

"I'm so sorry," he said, even though he didn't know what he was apologizing for specifically. It might have been for Lucius' death, or for the fact that his own parents were alive.

He might have been apologizing for the fact that he, and not Draco, was crying.

oOoOoOo—oOoOoOo—oOoOoOo—oOoOoOo—oOoOoOo

I realize most of you didn't want Lucius to die. The next chapter will be up in two weeks, and until then, I'll be hiding from the angry reviewers. But please do review, even if you are angry. It'll be cathartic that way. And I'm not sorry. I've been planning Lucius' death since the first book….I think it fits.


	27. The Last Will and Testament of L Malfoy

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and that is a sad thing to write.

Author's note: I'm late, but by like five hours. And I stayed up, until five o'clock, to finish it. Because I love you all. So remember, it's five. My grammar might suck. Please find it in yourselves to enjoy it anyway!

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Draco opened his eyes and half-turned, glancing at the clock over the fireplace. Nine o' five. The clock was a modern style, smooth lines and contours. The entire apartment was sleek, but with touches of warmth to keep it comfortable. Pansy had done most of the decorating; Blaise just footed the bill.

"You okay?" came a soft voice.

"Yeah," said Draco, and he settled back down, head on the pillow in Pansy's lap and her fingers began stroking through his hair again. "I'm fine."

Blaise looked over from the armchair he was sitting in, but didn't say anything. Draco let out a breath and stared at the ceiling.

There were other people he could be with, should be with.

He had left without warning. After collapsing onto Bill's shoulder for an hour, he had abruptly let go and said he wanted to be alone. It wasn't that Bill wasn't comforting; Draco was just uncomfortable with being comforted. He hadn't meant to break down like that, and if Lucius had simply died, he wouldn't have.

Well, he probably would have after a few days, but this was different. He had killed Lucius. He had killed him and then walked away and the knowledge, hour by hour, had been eating at him, had been tearing at him since before he had even given his father the knife. Draco had made his decision the night before the visit, after his encounter with Bellatrix. He had kept silent for too long, and then when the news broke, Bill hadn't been there to ward away his family. Ginny had done her best, but there had been pity, and questions, and prying, and touches on his shoulders, choking hugs and smothering attention. He couldn't escape, and they were all telling him it was okay to cry.

So he nearly lost it when Bill finally came. He regained composure an hour later, asked Bill to leave, and Apparated. He had left a note, of course, promising to avoid temptation and to keep in contact. He escaped to Blaise and Pansy's. Blaise broke out the whiskey. They didn't mix the drinks, but drank straight from the bottles, and when Draco woke up the next morning, he was lying face down on the couch, Blaise sprawled on the floor, and Pansy was draped over an armchair. She was in a state of unsurprising undress.

It had taken Draco three different hangover cures to get himself up, and then he wandered, not quite aimlessly, and ended up on a Muggle ferry to France. From there, it was two trains and a magic cab ride to the cemetery where Lukas was buried.

The cemetery was a small, and climate-controlled with spells to be a warm spring day all year round. The flowers never died there.

Lukas was buried by his mother's family, and under their name. It was a large monument, but nothing too gaudy. Draco had perched on the cornerstone and smoked a few cigarettes he had stolen from Pansy and mentally named all of the toxins he was inhaling and how, exactly, they were destroying his body. He wondered if it was self-destruction if he kept the damage minimal.

That was when suicide fluttered through his mind, but it was just that, a thought. Not a desire, not a temptation, not an option. He simply thought sometimes.

Draco had apologized to Lukas for killing their father. He then broke down again, gasping and choking against the grave. It seemed all he could remember were the good times, when Lucius taught him how to ride a broom and how to play Quidditch. The afternoons when Lucius would come home early and take dinners with Draco. The summer days when Lucius would vacation with Draco. The times when Lucius took Draco along on his business trips. Draco remembered them all perfectly. The sun, or the clouds, at home or away, the touch of Lucius' hand, a directing pressure on his back, or those treasured times when his hair was ruffled in approval. The one time Lucius kissed his forehead.

And then he had remembered how rare those moments with Lucius had been. He remembered the times when Lucius left or disregarded . The times he had been passed over for work. The times when he had been deemed not important. The times when Lucius should have paid him attention, on holidays, on his birthdays, the times when he had been sick and alone. The presents that were supposed to make up for the solitude. Those memories had him pressing his palms against stinging, dry eyes, mourning for another reason.

He had returned to Blaise and Pansy when night fell and proved to be too much for him to handle. That night shots of vodka were poured, and holding true with Pureblood traditions, salutes were given to the departed. Of course, in Pureblood tradition, it wasn't customary to use vodka, and it sure as hell wasn't customary to get thoroughly plastered, but when Pansy hiccupped through her recounting of Lucius' interruption when he and Pansy were about to have sex on the parlor sofa, resulting in the three of them laughing so hard they tumbled to the floor, Draco thought Lucius would have probably been amused.

Draco had owled Bill again that morning, and sent a letter to Ginny as well. It didn't say much, but he thought it was better than nothing. This time, when he wandered the streets, he didn't have a destination in mind. The Muggle world was loud and fast and dirty, and even though he had lived in it before, he never enjoyed his experiences. It was numbing though, and the chaos was ordered. There, he didn't have to worry about being spotted, and he didn't have to worry about succumbing to his addiction.

He was back with Blaise and Pansy when the evening fell. This time they didn't bring out alcohol. Draco now found himself, an hour later, lying on their sofa, his head in Pansy's lap and she was smoothing his hair with her fingers. There were hands he would rather have combing through his hair. Hands with a gentler touch that came with a soothing voice.

He glanced over at the clock again. It was now nine-fifteen.

He sat up.

"Heading back?" asked Pansy.

Draco glanced at the clock again. "Yeah."

"Anytime you need to stop by," said Blaise.

"Thanks," said Draco.

He used the Floo, and when he stepped into the hallway of Grimmauld Place, he was content to be back. He was glad he had left, of course, but it simply felt right returning. There were voices from other rooms, from the living room, and laughter drifting down from the stairs. Draco took a moment to breathe in and steady himself for any questions that might come his way. There were footsteps on the stairs, light, fast footsteps, and Draco turned, ready with a calm mask.

It was Ginny, and she stopped halfway down the steps to look over the banister. She saw him and hurried down the rest of the stairs. She stopped in front of him.

"Hi," she said softly.

Draco's lip quirked. "Hi," he said back.

She considered him for a moment.

"You look better," she said.

Draco appreciated the non-question, but answered her anyway.

"I'm getting there," he said.

She smiled and her eyes were warm. Draco was taken aback at how genuinely happy she seemed to be at his presence. Merlin, he hadn't done anything to warrant that look. In an attempt to make up for it, he reached a hand out, grasping her own and tugging her forward. She responded, tip-toeing to wrap her arms around his neck. He ducked his head and found her lips. He kissed her thoroughly, making her moan into his mouth. Perhaps he was indulging himself as well, but he couldn't really help himself. Her lips were soft, she tasted sweet, and her hands drifted over her neck and delved into his hair. She moved against him perfectly, and here, with her, he could forget, if only for a moment.

"Ginny, is that Draco?"

Bill's voice came from the living room. Ginny pulled away long enough to call back, "Nope, must have been a mis-Floo."

There was no mistaking the smile in her voice, and then she was locking lips with him again. Maybe she understood how he needed her at this moment.

"Draco, don't make me come over there," Bill called.

Draco reluctantly pulled back, brushing her cheek once because her skin was that incredibly smooth. He walked over to the living room and paused in the doorway.

Bill was sitting on the couch, a notebook in his lap. Hermione was knitting with Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley was reading a paper, and Charlie had a book and Lukas tucked into the crook of his arm. They were all looking at the door when he appeared and Draco forced himself to only look at Bill.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," said Bill. He glanced over at the other occupants of the room, and then at Charlie and Lukas. Satisfied his son was being looked after, he got up and headed for the hall. Draco let him pass and followed him back to his study. Bill took the chair. Draco leaned against his desk, not wanting to sit because he didn't really want to have this conversation. Ginny followed them in, something which surprised him, but he wasn't averse to her presence. She took a seat in the corner on the piano bench.

"How are you?" Bill asked. "Please don't say fine."

Draco had been going to say fine. Instead he thought for a moment, because Bill deserved more, then said, "As well as can be expected."

Bill nodded, but his expression was still tight.

"I just…I needed to get away," said Draco. "Being here, I couldn't. Not with everyone." It wasn't the most eloquent expression of emotion; it wasn't even grammatically sound. It conveyed what was needed though, and Bill was a translator. Draco found that this vague confession was easier.

"I understand," said Bill. "Not at first, but now I understand. Are you going to get through this?"

Draco gave a shrug. "In my head, I know that it was the best, and I know that Lu-," he cut off because couldn't quite get the name out without choking. He tried again. "I know that he would rather it be this way, but-," he shrugged again.

"I don't think your logic is going to be a source of comfort," said Bill. "Maybe in a week or so, until then, it's okay to hurt."

Draco nodded, not in total agreement, but to show he heard.

"For what it's worth," said Bill, "I don't think you made the wrong decision."

Draco understood the nuances in the phrasing. Bill wouldn't say he had done the right thing, because he would never have done such a thing, nor did he fully understand. He would never have to make the choice Draco made.

Bill got up and stepped close to Draco, pulling him into a side hug. Draco didn't return the embrace, but he didn't pull away.

"I'm glad you're back," Bill finished. He smiled and left. Draco let out a breath.

"Harry and Ron and Hermione are dueling with Dumbledore," said Ginny from the corner.

Draco turned and raised an eyebrow.

"Snape came back, well, not really. He just stopped by really quickly. No one expected him, but he said that Voldemort was nearly finished rooting out the troops. And the Dementors, the ones that left Azkaban, are with him. It sounds as if more attacks will be coming, so Dumbledore decided it was time to teach Harry how to duel."

"About time," said Draco, sitting more fully on the table now.

"I don't think starting the lessons is a source of consternation, kind of like admitting the war is here for real. Not to mention everyone at the Order wants to be Harry's mum or dad. They don't want to admit that they can't protect him from this."

"They're going to have to get over that rather quickly," said Draco.

"It's weird though," said Ginny. "I mean, why Harry?"

"Because he's an orphan thrust into a new world and still maintains the generally accepted moral code," said Draco. "Very heroic."

Ginny snorted. It was a cute sound. "Not that," she clarified. "Why does he have to be the one to kill Voldemort? Aren't prophecies usually more generic?"

The prophecy was direct, and not knowing the specific phrasing, Draco couldn't ascertain the reason it had to be Potter.

"I don't know," he said, and then frowned because he didn't like saying those words.

"Anyway," said Ginny. "That's where they are. And Fred and George are entertaining Fleur, so if you and I wanted to, say, claiming the drawing room for ourselves, we could without interruption." She got a coy look on her face, and pushed herself off the bench to stand in front of him. Her hair was down and slid over the side of her face. She looked at him from underneath lowered lashes. It was an appealing picture. "It's a little more…comfortable than your office."

Draco felt the corner of his lip quirk. "And what did you need the additional comfort for?" he asked.

"Well, Dumbledore also said that school was starting again in a week and a half or so, and I need you to look over my Transfigurations essay." She gave him an apologetic smile. "But I promise a massage while you work."

Merlin, she was exactly what he needed. His lips settled into a soft smirk. "I think I can oblige."

And so he spent the evening looking over a sixth year Transfigurations paper that he could have written when he was five, but she had a pleasing script and a clear voice in her paper. And over all it was very well written. He may have taken more time than necessary looking it over because her hands worked out three hard days of tension like magic.

She didn't mention his father at all, for which he was grateful. In fact, even when the rest of the Order returned, the subject was avoided.

Kingsley did approach him at breakfast, with an apologetic look on his face.

"I need to know if you supplied the knife to your father," said Kingsley. "There is an investigation, and you may be charged with aiding and abetting."

"Aiding and abetting?" Bill demanded.

"I'm not asking in an official capacity," Kingsley was quick to reassure. "I just need to know if I should waste my time looking for another culprit or not. I thought for sure it was your knife you had snuck through, but it's still in your study."

Draco nodded. He figured that he would be an investigation and that he was the main suspect.

"I gave Lucius the knife. Not that knife, but I made one. I didn't know if it would work, but it appears I managed fine."

"You replicated it?" Bill asked. "When?"

"A week or so ago. I thought it might come in handy."

He took a sip of his coffee.

"I don't think the charges will stick," said Kingsley. "Not if they don't give you Veritaserum."

"They couldn't give it to me for anything less than murder," said Draco. "Even assisting suicide doesn't count."

Kingsley nodded, hesitated, and then said, "You do realize Lucius could have used that knife to escape. He could have killed someone with that knife."

Draco shook his head. "No. He couldn't have." He thought and then amended his statement. "He could have killed a guard, yes, but he wouldn't have been able to escape. Contrary to popular belief, he isn't – _wasn't_ like Voldemort in regard to the joy for senseless murder. The knife was for one purpose, if he chose. It was the very least I could do. I don't expect any of you to understand."

There was a pause.

"I do," said Sirius.

Draco nodded and then turned back to his breakfast, signaling the conversation was over.

Draco knew Lucius didn't have to use the knife, but he wondered if he had somehow forced his father's hand. What if there had been a chance that the appeal would have gone through…what if the Da- Voldemort had decided Lucius was useful after all…what if there was an escape plan but Lucius had decided not to chance it, not with the certainty of death by his own hand…what if – but no, there was no way to be sure. He was going to drive himself insane if he kept going through every remote possibility. Still, looking back, he wondered if he should have told Lucius more. He wished he had thanked him, or told his father that he was pretty sure he loved him.

He wished Lucius had said more to him. He had said 'I never needed another child', but there were so many ways that could be interpreted. Did Lucius truly care for him, or was that simply a recognition that by providing the knife, he had performed one more act of service for the family.

Draco clenched his jaw and put the fork down. His fingers twisted together.

Conversation around him stilled, but then was renewed with deliberate questions and feigned casualness. He knew they were trying to be kind, to give him a moment to collect himself, but he couldn't help but feel their quick glances his way. He couldn't help but feel their pity. Pity for him because he couldn't handle the loss of a parent who was never there to begin with. Since when did he become so dependant? It was pathetic.

_Yes, pathetic_, said Lord Draco. _Pining after Daddy's affection now that you killed him off. Did you really think he cared for you in any way? Especially after what you did?_

I didn't force him to use it. It was his choice.

_Trying to convince yourself?_ asked Lord Draco with a cruel edge.

Draco tried to push the voice away, tried to school his face into something a little softer than his current grimace. It had once been so easy to pull up a cool mask.

Just another thing he had lost.

The Floo flared and a letter flew from the flames to hover in front of his face. It took a moment for Draco to notice, and then he stared at the seal. It was from the Heritage office. But he didn't think Lucius would have left him anything.

Draco hardly noticed the hush around the table. He reached out and took the letter. It dropped lightly into his hands and he pressed the tip of his finger on the wax seal. It pricked his flesh and absorbed the drop of scarlet. The ward broke at the touch of his blood and the seal disappeared. The letter unfolded and Draco felt a moment of fear. Perhaps he was left something. A spell perhaps, a curse on his future children.

He read it, and then had to go over the words again because he couldn't believe what he was reading.

_To Mr. Draco Malfoy,_

_At the passing of Lucius Malfoy, his last testament named you as complete beneficiary to his estate and worldly goods. He has decreed that you will succeed him in name and title._

_Our condolences for your loss. All questions can be addressed to the Heritage Office._

_Your signum will be reactivated at the opening of this letter. For any health concerns, do not hesitate to make an appointment at our office or your own Healer._

_Regards,_

_Edward Thurston_

Draco could only stare, his eyes flickering over the words again and again. He only stopped when he felt a warm glow spread from the fingers grasping the parchment up his arm. He sucked in a breath.

"Draco? Draco, what is it?" asked Bill, apprehension in his voice.

"No," said Draco, shaking his head at the concern. "No, it's…," he meant to say fine, but then the glow surged into a tingling, warm spear, shooting through his arm and shoulder, wrapping around to his back.

It didn't hurt, but it was strong. He dropped the parchment and grasped onto the table.

The sensation across his back was a strange one, but never more welcome. It was as if his skin had been frozen across the tattoo, pulling at his muscles, not allowing him to stretch. Now, that ice was melting away. He could feel the snake unwinding, writhing in freedom, the trees finally bowing to that invisible wind. His skin itched and tingled, pins and needles, like it had finally woken up.

He reached back, needing to feel it. He pulled his shirt up and over his head, leaving it on his arms, and he tried to twist back, but he couldn't see it without a mirror. He looked to Bill.

"Is it back?" he asked, twisting so Bill could see.

"Sweet Merlin," said Bill, and then Draco felt the cool brush of his fingers. "It's moving," said Bill. "And it's red."

Draco laughed, a confused, euphoric, overwhelmed laugh.

"You still have the scars," said Bill, quieter, but Draco couldn't bring himself to care.

"It's back," he said. He pulled his shirt back on because the table was staring and he had never enjoyed being so exposed in the presence of others. "He…he reinstated me, even after…," he trailed off and then grabbed at the parchment, flipping to the second page. This was the actual copy of the will, of all the changes that had been made in the past.

"He never named another beneficiary," said Draco in disbelief. Draco had been disinherited and disowned, but because there had never been another name to inherit the Malfoy fortune, half would have gone to Draco by default, the other to Narcissa. "And it was two weeks ago. Two weeks ago he reinstated me, naming me heir."

His hand rose to his head and tangled in his hair because his fingers couldn't tap out his pattern.

"He…he never," Draco realized he was babbling, but couldn't seem to stop. "He did. He cared." He sucked in a breath, and looked up. "I apologize," he said, and stood, ready to excuse himself, but Ginny grabbed his hand and Bill put a hand on his shoulder. Together they forced him, gently, back into his chair.

"Draco," said Bill, "I think it's safe, after seeing this, to say that Lucius loved you."

Draco looked into Bill's eyes, and saw that Bill honestly believed it. The thought turned over in his mind, and instead of listing every reason that couldn't be, instead of remembering every time he was left behind, or discarded, or ignored, he thought that maybe, just maybe, Bill could be right.

He could have laughed right then, laughed for the indescribable sensation that rose from his chest at that moment, but there was an odd sting to the warmth that seemed to leave him breathless. He fought for control, swallowing hard and turning to Ginny.

She smiled beautifully, but she was blinking through her smile. He could see dew drops in the corner of her eyes and knew she was crying for him. He brushed her cheek.

Beside him, Bill raised his coffee mug. "To Lucius Malfoy," he said.

And the Order toasted to the recently passed, former right-hand man of Voldemort.

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"Last order of business today," said John. He held up a file. "Lucius Malfoy's last will and testament."

Percy picked his head up from where it had been pillowed in his arms on the table. He had spent the entire Civis Arma meeting with his eyes closed. He hadn't fallen asleep, and his constant contributions to the meeting had proved that to the other members, but Tierney was running him ragged. Something was always wrong, or needed revision. Even when the schedule was perfectly ordered, Tierney found something to change, usually the entire agenda for the day. And Percy was in charge of catering to his contradictory whims, and when he couldn't switch the afternoon conferences with the morning meetings, it was his fault, never Tierney's.

Percy knew what Tierney was trying to do. As Assistant, he couldn't be fired by the Minister alone, unless it was proven that he had been grossly negligent in his duties. As Assistant, the only way he would be dismissed was with the cabinet's approval. That, or he could quit. Tierney was trying to make him quit.

Of course, the fact that he wasn't quitting was putting him under some steep suspicion from Tierney. No sane man would stay in such an abused position, not even for power. So Percy had to pretend that he was an idiot. A very smart, capable idiot. He had to pretend that he was a spineless devotee to power. He had to pretend that he was Wormtail to Tierney's Voldemort.

When Tierney lost the schedule for the week, Percy's original, first copy schedule, for the fourth time, Percy had to re-write it all, pretending that he didn't see the cruel stare or the vindictive smile. He had to rewrite it, while blathering on about how hard it was to keep track of papers and that no, he didn't mind at all. These things happen. He learned to make two copies after that.

When Tierney informed him, two hours before the Minister's banquet, that he wanted Eanes and Chadwick to be sitting at his table, disrupting the entire seating chart (because Eanes and Chadwick were two, steady, buffering individuals that were already placed in between key parties), Percy had to adamantly agree with Tierney's assessment and rearrange the entire floor plan. It took him an hour and a half and earned him evil glares from the kitchen staff. Then he had to dress for the banquet and arrived late. Tierney didn't let him forget it.

When Tierney had him stay up all night, writing a two-hour speech to address the tax legislation changes he was proposing and how it would affect national and international trade, only to throw out the entire thing out the next morning, Percy had to clench his fist and smile and say yes, the Minister had far more important things to do that day. After lunch, Tierney changed his mind again, and asked Percy if he wouldn't mind rewriting it because he had used the first copy to start a fire for a Floo call. Percy pulled out a spare copy he had made, anticipating the cruelty.

When Tierney canceled visits to France or Germany or any other country, Percy had to make that call. He had to cancel without an official reason, but in such a way so that Tierney could still visit, on a whim, in three days. When Tierney refused to meet with a visiting Ambassador, because he didn't 'feel like it' that day, Percy had to personally meet in Tierney's place to keep good international relations. That meant he was giving up two hours of work time, hours he had to tag onto the end of an eleven hour day.

It was like following a toddler every day, and trying to undue every mess he made. And Percy couldn't even smack Tierney. He was never having children.

He was exhausted. He didn't know how much longer he could last, but he couldn't leave. Not when the Civis Arma needed his information. Working directly with the Minister was a source they couldn't afford to lose. So Percy had spent the hour meeting trying to rest. Now, though, now he was sitting at attention with the rest of the group. Lucius Malfoy's death had rocked the news yesterday, and now that it was official, his will was the source of great speculation.

"Do you think he really left everything to Voldemort?" asked Rudy Costace, Auror, drumming his fingers on the table.

"If it does, we'll just have to take it to court. There's no way we'd allow that sort of finance to go to him," said John Kelly, Head of the Cabinet and leader of their secret group.

"Malfoy wouldn't have named Voldemort as the heir, not directly," said Percy. "He would have named a fellow Death Eater, and we couldn't contest that."

"But Voldemort put him in prison," said Jonathan Felix, also a member of the cabinet.

"He doesn't know that," said June Peterson, a member of the Wizengamot and sitting on the Council of Governors. "He thinks it was Bellatrix."

"Can't we just fake a will?" asked Helen. Helen, blonde hair, cropped short in a bob to make herself look less attractive, wanting to be taken seriously. She shouldn't have chosen to be an Auror. The red robes looked far too good on her. It took a moment for Percy to realize she was looking at him.

He shook his head, and looked away. "The will is going straight to several authenticators first thing tomorrow morning." To be more specific, in just a few hours. "When this amount of money is in question, no chances are taken. There's no way we could have something faked by then. Two weeks, maybe."

"So we let this one through, but we start on a fake copy, and then date it later," said John.

Percy shook his head again. "It'd be too late. Voldemort would have everything conveniently spent, and the properties would be stripped of all valuables." Percy hated being the bearer of bad news, but when one was the Assistant, one became familiar with all aspects of the law. Telling the hard truth now would save them all time and money. Still, it felt like he was always turning down ideas.

"Do we even want to open it then?" asked Rudy. "If it's only going to be bad news…,"

"Let's open it," said Percy. "At least give us time to brace ourselves."

John passed the file open to him. "As Assistant, you'd actually be cleared to see the contents of the will."

"So would you," said Percy.

"I'd need a warrant and an Auror beside me," said John. "You can just feel the need to disclose the information with us after you read it."

Sometimes, this group amused him. Here they were, a secret group made up of some of the most powerful men and women in the Ministry, chosen by the mythological Round Table to uphold justice in this time of turmoil, and little things like looking at a will troubled them. That was why they were chosen though. They were chosen because they would never abuse their power.

Percy flipped open the folder. One page was on top, only a paragraph written with three signatures on the bottom. The incredible stack behind it was a list of the assets of the Malfoy fortune. Percy read the statement, his eyebrows rising in surprise and a tired, weary smile crossing his face.

'_I, Lucius Malfoy, pledge all of my worldly goods to my son and heir Draco Lucius Malfoy upon my demise. He is the sole beneficiary and executor of my estate.'_

_Lucius S. Malfoy_

"What is it?" asked Rudy.

"He left it all to his son," said Percy. "He left it all to Draco Malfoy."

"But he disowned him," said Helen.

"And he's reinstated him," said Percy.

"Draco Malfoy," said John. "He's on our side, right?"

"He's in the Order," said Percy.

"And dating your sister," said Rudy, obviously finding that amusing.

Percy shot the young Auror a look.

"But why?" asked Peterson.

"Because Lucius Malfoy was anything but a fool," said Percy. "I bet he knew it was Voldemort setting him up all along."

"What makes you say that?" asked John.

"Because the will is dated a week before he had Fudge assassinated," said Percy. "He suspected, and he never named Voldemort in his will."

It was the best news they had all week. The meeting adjourned at two in the morning on that high note. Percy slept well that night.

He wondered if Tierney could see the difference that morning. He had come in, feeling more energetic than he had in a year, and while meeting with Tierney over breakfast, he managed to give the man an insincere smile. He realized the smile may not have been the best course of action when Tierney stopped him before he left.

"Weasley, stop," he said, as if he was ordering a dog.

Percy turned, affixing a neutral look on his face. "Yes, sir."

"You aren't terribly busy today, are you?" asked Tierney.

"We are preparing for your trip to Canada, sir," said Percy. Tierney knew that the day before a trip was hell, but that wouldn't stop him from sending him on a fool's errand. Percy wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of listing off every responsibility he had to do today so Tierney could ruin his plans.

"I need you to go to Azkaban," said Tierney.

Percy blinked in surprise. "Azkaban, sir?"

"Lucius Malfoy committed suicide two days ago."

"I am aware, sir. The Aurors are handling the investigation. I can have them send you a progress report, if you wished, sir. As it is, I wouldn't be able to personally leave for the prison until after three, not unless you wanted me to cancel the board meeting."

Percy took great pleasure in making Tierney order him to cancel meetings. It was the one thing he had done right from the start. Whenever Tierney's whims had him snub a national group, Percy always name dropped, making sure they knew it was Tierney who had canceled. He liked to spread ill will from the Minister, just so people knew how stupid they had been to elect him.

"After three will be fine," said Tierney, not rising to the bait this time. "I'm afraid the trip might be a long one, I trust you are significantly recovered from your last run-in with the Dementors?"

Of course Tierney would find a way to put him in contact with the Dementors. The last time Percy had seen one, he spent two days in a hospital after the attack at the debates.

"Completely recovered, sir," said Percy, not showing the dread he felt. He also didn't tell him that he had been labeled 'Sensitive' to the Dementors, because Tierney would only take that much more pleasure out of sending him there.

"Good," said Tierney. "Someone stole Lucius Malfoy's body."

It took a moment for Percy to process the words.

"Someone stole his body?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes. Needless to say, the Ministry is interested in such a happenstance."

No, the Ministry would launch an inquiry with Aurors, but not see it as a great loss. Tierney, on the other hand, still had ties to Voldemort. Perhaps the Dark Lord had wanted the body as proof to his followers not to cross him.

Another thought crossed his mind. Perhaps Lucius wasn't even dead.

A chill washed over him, as if he was already at Azkaban. Lucius Malfoy had been a powerful man, one that Voldemort apparently couldn't control or manipulate. It made sense that, once Voldemort heard about the missing body, he would demand Tierney to investigate. Tierney had to comply, of course.

No, he was being ridiculous. If Lucius Malfoy was pronounced dead at Azkaban, then he had crossed the Veil completely. Azkaban had wards to prevent the faking of deaths. The 'Juliet effect' had never succeeded in the prison.

"I want to know what happened," said Tierney. "Right now, only the responding guards and Aurors know that his body was stolen. I want to keep it that way."

"Yes, sir," said Percy.

He arrived at Azkaban at three-thirty. From the moment he could spot the island, he could feel the Dementors. He knew their presence was lessened, as nearly half had attacked the Ministry and then left with Voldemort. Even so, the chill set in, and by the time he landed and was ushered into the back entrance, for confidentiality's sake, he was nearly trembling.

The Healers had told him he would find himself affected to a greater degree in the presence of Dementors. They had also told him that he shouldn't pursue a career at Azkaban. And here he was.

Percy gratefully pulled on the thicker, cheerier robes of the Azkaban guards, bright electric green. It was one of the perks of being Assistant. He got the good robes. He also got to hold onto his wand.

"Here's your pin," said the welcoming guard. "It's attuned to your mental state. Green is good. Yellow, not so much. Orange means you should think about heading out. Red means you need to get the hell out. Black means you might find yourself jumping off the nearest high point."

"Green good, red leave," said Percy. "Got it."

The guard fastened the badge onto his robe and then stepped back. It immediately turned a shade of sickly yellow-green.

"Sensitive?" asked the guard.

Percy nodded and knew, right then, Tierney had read his medical report.

The door opened, letting in a blast of Dementor-cool air, and Percy saw his pin lose a few more drops of blue. He was nearly a dandelion right now.

"Assistant, thank you for coming," said the man who came through. The insignia of the Warden was on his robes. "I'm Bryant Thatcher."

Percy shook his hand. "I assume you know why I'm here."

"Yes, I do."

"The Minister has taken a personal interest in this case."

"Of course he has. He put Malfoy away, didn't he?"

"I believe the informant was actually Bellatrix Lestrange," said Percy. He also liked to remind the public of the Minster's nefarious associates.

"Ah, yes," said Thatcher awkwardly.

"I need to know what you told the Aurors," said Percy.

"Absolutely," said Thatcher. "I'll give you the tour."

Thatcher led him to the maximum security wing, to the last cell. The fourth wall was open. There was blood on the floor of the cell, and in areas where the puddle was the deepest, it still looked tacky. There was too much of it. Lucius Malfoy did indeed die here.

"It was only a few minutes before he would have been brought to his appeal," said the Warden. "We have a few alarms to signal when there is a suicide attempt, but none of them went off."

Percy raised his eyebrows at that. "They didn't?"

"The alarms also didn't sound at the presence of the weapon," said Thatcher. "There must have been some new spells on the knife."

"Or old ones," said Percy. He stepped closer and looked about the room. "Where is the knife now?"

"It's gone as well."

"Of course it is," Percy muttered.

"The guards who found him are in questioning with the Aurors. Even they don't know that the body is gone."

"When did the body go missing?"

"Sometime yesterday," said Thatcher. "We had brought it down to the mortuary. Follow me."

They traveled to the bowels of Azkaban which was exponentially warmer and more comfortable than the higher floors. The basements housed the infirmary, the guards' break room, and the morgue. There were smears of blood on the metal table on the side of the room.

"Malfoy was brought here after he was pronounced dead. There was a single stab wound in his chest." Thatcher gestured to his own chest, right where his ribs separated under his sternum. Percy recognized the positioning.

"Immolare," he said, referring to the suicide ritual practiced centuries ago, back when a man's honor was worth more than the amount of gold in his purse.

"What?" asked the Warden.

"Never mind," said Percy. "How long was the body here before disappearing?"

"At least twelve hours. Maybe twenty-four. He was the only stiff, so after the initial pronouncement, he was left here until it could be decided where he was going. Most are buried here, but in some cases, the family wants them back."

Twelve hours. That window of time covered at least two shifts of Aurors. Percy pinched the bridge of his nose.

"The guards are still be questioned by the Aurors," said the Warden, "but I'm sure you can sit in, if you would like."

"I think I had better," said Percy. And he, reluctantly, followed the Warden up to the few visiting rooms. His hands were blocks of ice and his nails were turning blue. His pin was starting to turn orange.

The guards were still being debriefed, all of them, even those who didn't respond to the suicide. Only two guards even knew the body was missing, two guards, the mortician, and five Aurors. Percy was filled in by Abner Hastings, the Auror running the investigation. Abner was a polite, thorough man, but he had been at Azkaban nearly all night, and only had a five hour reprieve before putting in another six hour day at the island. Even the cloak he wore couldn't protect him fully, and throughout his explanation, Percy watched his exposure pin turn from burnt orange to scarlet.

Abner, who did look quite pale, retired for the night, and his second in command, Tim Calloway, finished for him. Calloway spoke far more candidly than his superior.

"Most of the guards hated Malfoy," he said frankly. "Over half have at least one Muggle parent, and most of them are practically Squibs. It's not like you need a lot of magic ability to work here, not unless you're a response guard in charge of chasing after runaways, and it's not like there are any of them. Anyway, we've sixty guards and various workers that were here when the body made like a rabbit in a hat. Twenty of them said they wouldn't mind setting the corpse on fire, or any other such shenanigans. I can get you the suspect list and profiles if you'd like."

"I would like to see for myself," said Percy.

And Calloway got him the files, all sixty of the present guards. Percy glanced through half before realizing that with nothing else to go on, it was worthless. He sat in on a few interrogations, just to make sure the questioning was thorough. Tierney always wanted Percy to know personally how official business was being carried out, and he never let Percy take anyone's word for it, not even chief Aurors. It was to wear him down even further.

Percy's pin was dark orange by seven o'clock, and he gratefully called it a day. He was walking to the entrance with Tim Calloway who, despite the near maroon of his pin, still managed to relate a humorous encounter while bodyguarding a Quidditch star. He had just given the punch-line, which sent him into bellows of laughter and made Percy smile, when the hallway dropped thirty degrees.

Percy saw his breath puff white in the cold, and then a Dementor glided by. The black hood didn't even turn his direction, but it felt like his heart was freezing over, and each consecutive beat grew more and more difficult. Shards of ice were stabbing through his heart, and flooding through his blood stream, pricking and slicing as it was pumped through his body.

He realized he must have collapsed when he looked up to see Tim Calloway's face over his own and then he closed his eyes.

He opened them and found himself lying across a few seats on the ferry. From the lack of freezing fear, they were halfway back to shore. Calloway was sitting beside him, munching a bar of chocolate. He reached into his robe and pulled out another one. He offered it to Percy.

"Thanks," said Percy, his voice cracking like an adolescent.

He pushed himself up and fumbled with the wrapper. The sky was dark, the air was cold, even inside the glass walls of the ferry, and Percy was exhausted. He was more than exhausted. He was pathetic. The country was in the hands of a mad man that Percy had to cater to, his family hated him, and the Civis Arma depended largely on the information Percy gave from the Minister's desk. But he couldn't even face a Dementor without fainting, what hope did he have of saving the world? What good was he? Did he really think he could help save the world? Did he even think it deserved to be saved? The world was a terrible, unwelcoming place. Why was he even trying? There would always be chaos and pain and tears. He might as well give up right now. He could walk to the rail of the boat, and jump, and no one would notice. It was all –

A warm wind suddenly blew through the boat at Percy blinked. It really wasn't so bad as all that. There was always hope, and even though it was cold, the stars were out and looking quite beautiful. And Percy was doing his best. He really was, and you know what, he was doing damn well if he said so himself.

His brain finally caught up with the sudden upswing and he glanced over to see that Calloway had taken his wand.

"Putting a charm, even a cheering spell, on someone without their permission is a misdemeanor," said Percy. He was grinning when he said it. Even crime was funny when he was this happy.

"Yeah, well, either you have never tasted chocolate so good, or you were going into a depressive fit which would probably land you in St. Mungos psych ward for attempted suicide," said Calloway, and then he gestured to Percy's face.

Percy reached up and felt that his cheeks were wet and his eyes were stinging. He wiped them away and took a healthy bite of chocolate.

"Weren't you one of those people who passed out at the Ministry?" asked Calloway. "I thought all of you were deemed 'Sensitive' now. What are you doing at Azkaban of all places?"

"My boss is a bastard," Percy confided. His cheeks were hurting. He hadn't smiled like this since he left his parents' house after graduation.

Next to him, Calloway choked on his chocolate. "You just called the Minister…," and then he broke into a bout of hearty laughter. That made Percy giggle, and he quickly covered his mouth.

"I think maybe I over did the charm," said Calloway. "Sorry about that, but if I used mine, it would have shown up on a prior incantum, which is mandatory for Aurors after visiting Azkaban and even though this is perfectly legal, it's a lot of paper work to fill out. Hope you don't mind."

He handed the wand back.

"No, it's perfectly-," and then Percy cut off because his memory was triggered, and suddenly it was all rushing back to him.

"Sweet Merlin," he breathed.

"What? Is it not alright?" asked Calloway. "I'm real sorry if-,"

"No, it's fine," said Percy. "I just remembered…"

"Remembered what?" asked Calloway.

Percy remembered seeing Tierney's wand when he cast the Patronus charm. He remembered seeing the hazel wand in the candidate's hand and starting forward, because that wasn't Osmond Tierney's wand. He noticed things like that because security was another part of his job. Tierney's wand was a dark mahogany, and shorter, much shorter than this wand.

"Shit," said Percy.

He had often wondered how anyone, much less Tierney, would have managed to pull off a Patronus with that many Dementors. Maybe a guard at Azkaban could, after years of training. Maybe Harry Potter could have, because apparently he was the golden boy. Maybe Dumbledore. But Tierney? And a griffin was his Patronus? Please.

Now he saw it. Tierney hadn't used the Patronus. He had cast a Prior charm while saying 'Expecto Patrunum' out loud, a difficult thing to manage, speaking one curse and casting another, but infinitely easier than casing the Patronus at a roomful of Dementors.

"_Shit_," said Percy again.

Tierney had been in on the attack. He must have planned the entire thing, working with Voldemort so that he could come out the hero. The Dementors had been ordered to run from the ghost of the Patronus. The country really was in the hands of a mad man.

"You know, you're really starting to freak me out here," said Calloway.

Percy looked over and smiled. "Don't worry," he said. "In a couple of days, everything will turn out alright."

Because he knew someone who would want Tierney out of office even more than he did. And he was pretty sure this certain someone would be the only person who could manage to overthrow the Minister of Magic.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

Please review and look for the next chapter in two weeks!


	28. The Malfoy Estate

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Unfortunately, this extends to the rest of the characters and the magical world as well.

Author's note: Late again, but only by three hours this time. I'm getting better!

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It was a cold day. A few flakes of snow drifted invisibly down from the drab grey sky. Draco drove down the deserted, narrow road that was nearly overgrown by black, leaveless trees. The road curved suddenly, and there it was, the great iron gate that guarded the Malfoy Estate. The house itself was impossible to see from beyond the gate. In fact, all that was visible was the continuing road, the same bleak landscape.

The gates swung in for him. He was the rightful master now, and the wards opened at his presence. Draco drove through and the world changed. He retracted the roof on the convertible because here, here it was summer. It was summer year round. The clouds were cleared, and only the whitest, fullest clouds remained to drift across the blue sky. The woods here were brown and green, a wild tangle of trees, bushes and vines. A few wild flowers provided a burst of color.

The road curved again, just beyond the gate, and the woods cleared to green, short grass, and there was the Malfoy Manor, sprawled before him. It was constructed centuries ago, when less-than legal dealings forced the family to seek refuge across the channel. The Malfoy family was notorious for bouncing between England and France, leaving whenever they had caused enough upset in one country. The almost-palace was constructed mainly of light grey stone that shone silver in the sun. There was no symmetry to the wings of the home, but even the most recent additions looked to be generations old, but still perfectly preserved.

The rolling lawn was perfectly trimmed, dotted with flowing fountains surrounded by gardens of blooming flowers. A few trees were allowed to grow, stretching impossibly high to weave in the light breeze.

Draco stopped the car on the drive and closed his eyes, wondering if it would feel differently now that it was his, and now that he was alone. He couldn't tell because he was fighting the impulse to laugh, to jump out of the car and take off his shoes and run in the grass as he had as a child. He was home.

He inhaled the scent of gardenia and rose and grass, and then opened his eyes. There would be time to take it in later. Right now he had an hour to make sure the Floo's hadn't been hexed by the evicted Death Eaters and to see to the accounts before Bill and the rest of the Order descended, wanting to tour the Malfoy home. He had offered, of course, to show them but he hadn't thought so much interest would be garnered.

He pressed the accelerator and sped down the cobblestone drive to the grand entrance. He parked outside the wide marble steps and slowly got out of his car. He gazed up at the huge golden doors, inscribed with the Malfoy crest and the ancient runes that kept the enemy out. He slowly walked up the steps and the doors swung open.

The sight was breathtaking, even for him. The high, gilded and painted ceiling, the smooth, perfect marble floor spattered with gold, the two curved marble staircases on each side of the room, the jeweled archway leading to the ballroom, the silk and gold tapestries, and the enormous, sparking chandelier, dripping in diamonds and pearls. Draco very rarely used this entrance. It was saved for festivals and banquets, and he had attended very few as a child. Still, he remembered watching from the hallway that bordered the room from above. When Lucius would return after weeks overseas, only to be occupied with a banquet or a ball, Draco would creep from his bed to watch the guests arrive and to spot his father among them. Lucius always knew when he was there, and always looked up with a small smile. Draco looked up now, finding the posts he would peer between, wondering if some ghost of him remained there, still waiting for his father to come home once more.

"Is master needing anything?"

Draco looked down to the house elf which had appeared beside him without so much as a sound. The elf was wrapped in a clean towel, waiting for instructions with a bowed head.

"I trust all of the guests have left?" he asked.

"Yes, master. Though not nicely. They managed to destroy the west parlor before Tolly and the others were able to banish them. Tolly is sorry, master. Tolly will punish himself if master sees fit."

"That's not necessary, Tolly," said Draco absently. He hadn't thought the Death Eaters would leave quietly. Still, the damage didn't matter as long as they didn't leave anything damaging behind. "Did they leave any curses?"

"No, master. The house did not allow it."

"Have the other elves check anyway, particularly the fireplaces," said Draco. "We will be having guests at eleven. They'll probably want to see most of the house, well, the East and North wings at least. I trust they are presentable?"

"Yes, master. Perfectly in order."

"We may also be wanting lunch, tea at the very least. Tell the kitchen to prepare."

"Yes, master."

Draco nodded, then looked back down to the elf.

"Is mother around?" he asked.

"She is away, master. Should Tolly revoke her admittance to the house?"

So much for the house staff not knowing any family secrets. Draco would have liked to say yes, that Narcissa would never again set foot on the grounds, not when Lucius had given him the estate, but Lucius had loved Narcissa. He sighed.

"Just, send word if she should arrive."

"Yes, master."

"That's all," said Draco.

The elf bowed and disappeared.

Draco took the staircase on the right and traveled up to the halls that overlooked the entrance. Here there were several small parlors, a larger sitting room, a drawing room and a music room, a hallway leading to the guest wing, and another corridor that led to the rest of the estate, off limits for anyone who was not family or uninvited. Several wards made sure of that.

Draco passed through those wards and onto the more familiar halls and rooms. He had grown up here, running down halls that carried millions of galleons worth in gilded portraits, painted landscapes, and bejeweled candelabra that lighted the way at night. Now, though, the heavy drapes were pulled back from large French windows that ran the hall and the sun streamed in. There were no sinister depictions of the Dark Ages, no flaming torches lighting dank stone passage ways like so many people supposed. The Malfoy home was not representative of their dark dealings. It had been a warm place to grow up in. Draco preferred their French home, of course, but the English counterpart had not been an unwelcoming place.

The first order of business was not one Draco was looking forward to starting. Not because it was distasteful, but because of what it entailed. He stopped outside of his father's private study and rested his fingertips against the smooth dark wood. The business papers and ledgers were kept in Lucius' desk, and while he could simply have Tolly bring the necessary papers to him, he disliked admitting to cowardice.

He took a breath and opened the door.

Compared to the rest of the house, the study was nearly minimalistic. It was spacious, but not overly large. It held a great deal of windows, but the heavy drapes were hanging shut, minimizing the light. The study was silent, still, and dark, and Draco thought of a crypt. He deliberately took a step into the room.

Closed cabinets lines the lower wall, and open shelves took up the rest of the wall space. These shelves held books, magic detectors, pictures and antiques. Nothing was purely for decoration, but even the useful objects were selected for their style.

He hesitantly approached the large desk. There were still papers out, with his father's bold calligraphy running over the expanse. Draco brushed his fingers over the script without a conscious decision to do so.

Had Lucius been working on this before he was arrested?

Draco shoved that thought from his mind, and then pushed the papers to the side. He needed the ledgers, that was it.

He pulled open the first drawer and took out the thin books bound in deep green leather. He didn't dare look over the accounts here, not when the room was thick with his father's presence.

Draco left the study, walking quicker than was absolutely necessary, the books clenched tightly in his hands. He walked down to the sun parlor, where three of the four walls boasted large bay windows, and sat at the glass-and-gold table that matched the walls and carpeting. Here, in the sunlight, ghosts were unable to enter. He opened the books.

He had a little less than an hour before the others would be arriving, plenty of time to review the present status of the Malfoy businesses. As expected, there had been a dramatic fall in trade, due to the Minister's assassination, but from what Draco was looking at, it didn't seem to be a permanent loss. In fact, he already had a few plans forming that might reverse the current decline.

"Tolly," he spoke aloud.

The elf appeared immediately. "Yes, master?" he asked.

"Fetch me writing supplies," said Draco, then as an afterthought, "please."

"Right away, sir," said Tolly. His service was prompt. Three seconds later, and Draco had before him any writing utensil he could ever require.

Half an hour into his work, a coffee tray appeared on the table as well. Draco poured himself a mug and absent-mindedly sipped it while he finished familiarizing himself with the business report. He would have completed the review before Bill and the others came over, but not ten minutes after he received his coffee, an aggrieved Tolly burst into the room.

"I told him to wait, master, but still he comes!"

Draco raised his eyebrow, and then Bill came into the room, grinning ruefully.

"One hour," said Draco. "You couldn't even wait an hour?"

Bill shrugged. "I worry," he said. "I was also really curious." He looked about the room and shook his head. "This house is incredible. I had no idea you were this rich. It explains a lot actually."

Draco rolled his eyes but turned back to his books. "I still have fifteen minutes," he said. "Where's everyone else?"

"I think Fred and George wanted to find your dungeons, but we're keeping them corralled in…well, what ever room it was we came out in. It's big and mostly blue. A lot of pictures, a huge chandelier. I had to walk a full minute to get to here."

"The blue parlor," Draco said.

"Creative name," said Bill.

"It's really more of a waiting room for guests who arrive early for a banquet or ball," said Draco. He reluctantly put down his papers.

"We can wait," said Bill. "We were the ones arriving early after all."

"Etiquette requires the immediate attention to the guests," said Draco. He turned to the house elf who had retreated to the wall, waiting for instructions. "Tolly, please clear the table. I will be taking our guests on a tour. We would like lunch when we are finished, in the conservatory dining room."

"Yes, master," said the house elf.

Draco and Bill walked back towards the grand entrance. The Weasley family, Sirius, Hermione, and Harry were waiting for him there. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked as if they hardly dared to stand on the carpet, much less sit in the furniture. Fred and George were fiddling with a few antiques and Hermione was glancing through the small bookshelf. Ginny was studying a portrait of his grandfather Abraxas. Her nose was scrunched as she peered at the wizard who was holding absolutely still, refusing to acknowledge her presence.

"He doesn't talk much," Draco said, coming to stand beside her. "Most portraits here are rather immobile, but from choice."

"Do you suppose you'd get neck cramps if you were a portrait?" asked Ginny.

Draco quirked his lips. "I very much doubt it," he said.

"Hey, Malfoy," Fred called. "Can we see your dungeons?"

"Yeah, and all the secret passages," George added.

Draco turned and saw Ron's face. He felt the same way. Having been a prisoner in his own home, and having a knife run through his arm, was not something he wanted a reminder of.

"We'll be skipping the dungeon part of the tour today. But I can show you the armory, and the room where the great-great-great-great grandson of Salazar Slytherin was murdered."

By the looks of Fred and George, that was a perfectly acceptable tradeoff.

So Draco led them through the Malfoy home, telling a few childhood stories as he went in order to combat the opulence of the rooms. They toured the armory and murder site, as he promised Fred and George, and the ballroom, the banquet dining room, the main library – which Hermione nearly refused to leave – a few of the best parlors, the concert room, the public study, and then, when they began to realize exactly how much money he had – which had not been his intent with the tour at all – he took them outside to see the front garden.

A beautiful garden appealed to everyone, and this was one of the best in England. It was a rose garden, with white stone pathways and pleasantly splashing fountains. It was calming, or it was until a carriage clattered up the drive pulled by the family's thestrals. It was Narcissa.

Draco started for the carriage.

"Who is it?" Bill called.

"Just wait there," Draco ordered.

The carriage stopped in front of the grand entrance and Narcissa emerged, drowning in her jewels and unsteady on her feet. Her dress was crumpled, meaning she was just arriving from a party last night, and by her lack of balance and blood shot eyes, she was still drunk. A surge of hatred nearly blinded him and he clenched his fists to keep from going for his wand.

"Father's dead and you can't even pretend to mourn his passing?" he demanded, his voice smooth and frozen with anger.

"Why should I? Apparently he left everything to you. I knew I should have divorced him when I had the chance at alimony," said Narcissa. "Oh, and look. You've invited the family he loved so dearly. Your father's not even in a grave, and already you're tainting his house with such filth."

Her voice rose, and must be carrying over to the garden. This was not the place to finally confront the woman who had given birth to him.

"Let's move inside and discuss a settlement," said Draco. "While I will not provide you with a yearly income, I will provide you with a house and enough for a comfortable living."

"So you're cutting me off, is that it? You ungrateful bastard; I'm your mother! I should have known you'd be just like him."

Her voice was a screech. There was no doubt her words were audible from the garden. Draco forced himself to bite back a retort.

"Narcissa, let's take this inside." He reached out, touching her shoulder to guide her towards the stairs. She whirled on him and her hand struck out. It smacked against his cheek with a crack, whipping his head to the side.

"I deserve his fortune!" Narcissa spat. "I put up with him for twenty years, and this is the thanks I get? Nothing?"

Draco turned to her, eyes blazing.

"Lucius should have thrown you out to the street like the whore you are. And I will do what he should have done, if you do not leave right now. Come back when you're sober, mother. We'll talk then."

Narcissa stared at him, her eyes wide and aghast, finally realizing that Draco was not going to give in as Lucius had. "But...but I have no where to go."

Draco sighed. "Just, find a hotel. I'll cover it and your living, but that is all. No drugs, no jewels, no trips to Italy. Find one of your lovers to buy you expensive things."

Narcissa glared, but climbed back into the carriage. "You'll be hearing from my lawyers," she threatened as she left.

Draco didn't respond, but let the carriage drive away. He didn't want to see her again.

"Draco?"

He turned to see Bill standing at the side of the road, concern evident in his expression.

"She's leaving," said Draco.

"She hit you."

"She's drunk. And lacking a fortune to spend."

"Those aren't excuses."

"I know," said Draco. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Can we just pretend that didn't happen? I've got too much to deal with right now."

"You have a red mark on your face."

Draco rubbed the spot. "It'll fade. Come on. Lunch is probably ready by now." And he set off for the rest of the group, determined to say nothing more on the matter.

They were all waiting for him, but trying to look like they hadn't just witnessed a family argument.

"You said something about lunch," said Sirius. He was the only one who wasn't awed by the house, and the only one completely unfazed by the appearance of Narcissa Malfoy.

Draco was thankful for the directed conversation. "Of course," he said. "This way."

It was a short walk to the conservatory, but it took longer for conversation to return to normal. The lunch didn't help at first. It was a fancy meal, fancier than Draco had expected, and Tolly had wanted to serve it in courses, but Draco made him put all the platters out at once. The elf was distraught at the idea, mostly due to the fact that this was the first meal Draco was having as the new master, and he had guests with him as well. It took several minutes of gentle convincing, and the promise to have a real party in the near future, and Tolly finally caved. The almost-fight with the house-elf caused several chuckles from his guests even though it flustered him more

Still, once the food was served and people began to eat, the tension eased. It was hard to remain anxious while dining from the Malfoy kitchen.

"Your place is wicked," said Ron, around a bite of salmon halfway through the meal.

"You live in a palace," said Harry. "You grew up in a palace."

"More of a chateau, really," said Draco. "It's in the country, not the city."

"Chateau," Ron snorted. "No wonder you're an arrogant snot."

"Thank you," said Draco.

"Oh, shove off," said Ginny, coming to his defense. She turned to Draco and leaned in. "So, can I get a tour of your room?" she asked in a lowered, teasing voice. Her mother still heard.

"Ginny!" she exclaimed, completely scandalized.

Bill laughed, but the rest of her brothers turned a wary glance his way.

Tolly appeared at his side, creating a welcome diversion.

"This just came for you master," he said, holding out a letter.

"Thank you, Tolly," said Draco, accepting the envelope. He frowned at the lack of the sender's name, and at the message scrawled across the front.

'_Your eyes only'_.

"Excuse me," he said. He nodded and then ducked into the hall that led to the rest of the house. He slid his finger underneath the seal and scanned the short message.

_Draco,_

_We must meet. Soon if possible. Floo to my study at your earliest convenience. I'll duck out and meet you there. _

_Percy_

_p.s. My condolences for the loss of your father._

Percy, the Minister's Assistant, was going to duck out of work to meet Draco at his convenience? It must be important.

Draco reentered the room.

"Leaving?" asked Bill, identifying the look on his face.

"Something came up that requires my immediate attention," said Draco, addressing the group. "Enjoy your lunch, and stay as long as you'd like."

"That might be for a long time, mate," said Ron. "Your place is significantly nicer when there aren't any Death Eaters around."

Draco quirked his lips. "Agreed," he said.

"When will you be back?" asked Bill.

"Not sure. Probably no more than an hour." He didn't think Percy could really excuse himself for that long.

"Alright. We'll see you back at the Order then. An hour," said Bill.

"And I'll Floo if I'm going to be late, I know," said Draco. He nodded to the table and left for the pearl parlor by the side entrance which held the nearest fireplace with a Floo service. He stepped through and out into Percy's private office, which was exactly the same as he remembered it, even down to the planner on the desk and the number of quills in the brass holder. Percy Weasley was most definitely a little obsessive-compulsive.

Draco settled into one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, not knowing how long it would be until Percy could escape work. He would have been notified at Draco's arrival, through some magical signal, but the Assistant was a busy man.

Draco was surprised when Percy appeared at his desk by Portkey not two minutes later.

"Malfoy," he said with a smile. "So glad you could come on such short notice. Do you want any tea? Coffee?"

"No, thank you," said Draco.

"Right, well, give me a moment, and I'll explain everything."

It was clear that the serious Weasley boy was exhausted. Draco figured Tierney was trying to work him into quitting or death – which ever was faster – but Percy appeared to be in surprisingly good spirits. He had smiled at Draco in greeting and he was humming under his breath as he waited for the kettle to boil. He must be excited about something.

He was, however, still drinking hollymint tea for muscle tension.

"Good news, then, I take it," said Draco.

"Quite good," said Percy. He poured his cup of tea and then joined Draco by the fireplace. Draco impatiently waited for him to settle in the chair.

"I had a moment of revelation," said Percy. He took a sip of tea. "My memory was a bit hazy after the Dementor attack at the debate, but luckily, a further run-in with the Dementors down at Azkaban triggered a few of those memories, one in particular you might find interesting."

Draco was surprised to hear that Percy had been at Azkaban, and didn't think Percy would have had to attend to the suicide investigation of Lucius personally, but he didn't pry.

"What memory?" he asked instead.

"The wand Osmond Tierney used to fend off the Dementors at the debate was not his wand," said Percy.

"Are you sure?" asked Draco.

"Absolutely positive," said Percy. "I'll testify under Veritaserum, if it comes down to it."

"Testify, in a court of law?" asked Draco.

"Well, I was thinking that in the copious amounts of spare time I have," said Percy dryly, "and thought I might just have the Minister arrested after my lunch break." He took another sip of tea and then twisted his neck to the side. Several vertebrae popped loudly. Percy continued, seriously this time. "I actually wouldn't want to testify against Tierney, or even bring charges, because then I would have broken my oath to support the Minister in every capacity, and while I would be legally justified to take him to court - ,"

"It's unlikely you would be able keep your position as Assistant," Draco finished. "And you need to stay in your position for the Civis Arma."

"Precisely," said Percy.

"So, instead, you want me to accuse the Minister and bring him to justice without using your testimony which is probably the only proof we have of the switch."

Percy nodded, and then grinned. It threw Draco for a moment, to see such a Weasley smile on the usually stern face. He had started thinking of Percy as his own entity, not related to the other red-heads at all. Now, though, the resemblance was striking.

"What do you say, Draco?" he asked. "Up for a challenge?"

"I will have to call on you if this doesn't go as smoothly as I hoped," Draco cautioned.

"But last resort only."

"Of course," Draco promised. Already he was thinking about the possibilities, his brain flooded with laws and courts and various prosecution aspects of the trial.

"Think you can do it?" Percy asked curiously.

Draco nodded, his lips turning into a smirk. "I think so," he said.

"Good," said Percy. "Then I'm not going to bother going back to the trade meeting. He can yell all he wants." He put his feet up on a footstool and slouched a little in the armchair. "You'd better get him, Malfoy," he said seriously, "because I'm barely surviving him as it is. I won't last 'til the end of his term. I don't even know if I would last another month."

Draco studied Bill's brother, taking in the pale features and black circles under his eyes.

"Would you like to be Minister?" he asked suddenly.

"What?" asked Percy.

"Say I depose Tierney. Would you like to be Minister?"

"The Assistant can't run for office. It's to prevent assassinations."

"No, I know," said Draco. "But you could quit, right now. And then, afterward Tierney's gone, run for Minister. I'd back you. I'm not the best of political allies to have right now, but I could probably help you win the elections."

Percy laughed. "Me? Minister? Malfoy, there is no way I'm ready for that. Yes, I know how the Ministry works, and I know how to conduct trade talks and what tax benefits are needed to promote growth in specific areas of the economy, but I am not ready to take on the fate of England. I can handle the bureaucratic bullshit, but I couldn't make decisions for an entire country. The thought honestly terrifies me. Give me another decade, and maybe, but there's no way I'd want to be Minister right now."

Draco could see his objection. The third-eldest Weasley was obviously a perfectionist. In such a powerful position, he could easily drive himself mad.

"We'll talk in ten years then," he said.

"Ten years," said Percy, raising his cup of tea in a salute. "If I'm not permanently retired and living as a hermit in Scotland by then."

Draco smirked and got up.

"Malfoy," said Percy, "if you are going to support some new candidate for Minister, just make sure he's a decent one. If not, I swear I'll freeze your accounts until Merlin returns."

"Understood," said Draco.

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Draco was true to his word and Flooed back to the Order an hour after he left on whatever mysterious business he had. Bill tried to ask him about it, but Draco evaded his questions and then locked himself in his study. He refused to even take a break for dinner.

Bill would have been worried, but Draco assured him, through the closed door, that he was fine and yes, he would explain tonight, and Bill should probably contact Dumbledore as well to hear what the secret was. So Bill contented himself with an audible sigh outside the door and busied himself until Dumbledore arrived.

The Headmaster Flooed over at eight-thirty, along with McGonagall and Snape. Kingsley and Tonks arrived a few minutes later, and Remus appeared at nine, apologizing for being so tardy. Molly was ready with tea and cake, even though this was an informal Order meeting, and the dessert brought the rest of the family down as well. Once they were all served, Dumbledore turned to Bill.

"So, where is our resident genius?" he asked.

Bill shrugged. "He said he'd be out."

"I am," said Draco, coming in from the hall. He slid into the seat next to Ginny and Bill, a seat that was now exclusively his, and accepted the piece of cake from Mrs. Weasley. He poured himself a mug of tea, keeping them all in suspense. His lips quirked into a smirk and his eyes shone with an odd light. That odd light Bill associated mainly with Lord Draco.

"Draco?" he asked.

Draco took a sip of tea and then announced, "I'm suing the Minister."

Bill blinked. Draco ignored the silence and took a bite of cake. It was odd, seeing Draco eat the sweet dessert without picking at it first or being prodded to eat, but he had skipped dinner. Bill considered Draco, saw he was serious, and then looked around the table to see that everyone was just as surprised as he was, but he had far more experience dealing with the teen genius.

"Okay," he said. "What do you hope to accomplish with suing the Minister?"

"It's a bit complicated," said Draco, which Bill took to mean that no mere mortal had a hope to understand his convoluted thought processes, "but the basic idea is to get the Minister on the stand under Veritaserum and then force him to admit that he was behind the Dementor attack at the debates."

"But he wasn't behind the attack," Ginny pointed out. "Voldemort was, and Tierney will be under Veritaserum."

"No, I know that," said Draco. "I actually will just allude to the fact that he was behind the attacks. He'll only admit to knowing about the attack and switching wands while under Veritaserum, and the rest will be implied in the subsequent trials."

There was more silence. Bill watched Draco eat more of his cake with a very self-satisfied look on his face. Bill had never seen Draco purposefully flaunt his intelligence, but sometimes Draco liked to be vague and annoyingly obtuse. Usually when he had a flash of genius and wanted the satisfaction of figuring it out.

"Alright," said Bill, knowing Draco wouldn't explain further until asked. "What's the basis for the trial at least?"

"That Lucius Malfoy was wrongly convicted for his assassination of Minister Fudge," said Draco.

Yes, Draco was definitely being obscure on purpose now. Bill had no doubt that a smarter man could follow the genius's train of the thought and ambiguous statements, but right now he was at a loss, as was the entire table. Well, Dumbledore was twinkling, but he wasn't offering any sort of clarification.

"But Lucius did kill Fudge," said Ron, very slowly, as if he was afraid of sounding stupid by stating a fact.

"I didn't say I was going to sue because he was innocent, just that he was wrongly convicted. Of course, the idea is to convey, at least to Tierney, that I am trying to prove Lucius' innocence to keep him off the real game."

"Which is?" Sirius prodded.

"To get him to admit that knew about the attacks," said Draco.

And then Draco waited, eyebrows raised, as if he sincerely expected them to connect the dots without any sort of numbering system. Bill watched, in amusement, as Draco transitioned from smug superiority with his deliberately incomprehensible explanations to frustration when no one understood after his big reveal. Well, Dumbledore was still twinkling, and Ginny, who wanted to go into law, had her head cocked to the side, like she was almost ready to solve the puzzle.

"It's a little complicated," Draco allowed, "but it's not rocket science."

"What's rocket science?" asked Ron.

"Space shuttles," said Draco. "Avionics and orbital mechanics and escape velocity."

"Oh," said Ron. "So is it true that the Muggles landed on the moon?"

Bill nearly laughed at Draco's disbelieving expression, but he managed to swallow the urge.

"Yes," said Draco. "The Muggles landed on the moon. And they now have a space station orbiting the Earth."

"But…but how?" asked Ron.

Draco ignored the question. "It'll work," he told the rest of the table. "And once Tierney is convicted, we can look for a new candidate for office. You'll just have to trust me on this one. Can you do that?"

An odd question coming from Draco, but Bill smiled. It was proof that Draco was recovering from his isolated and deprived childhood.

"Absolutely, my boy," said Dumbledore. He was twinkling so hard he was practically shining.

"Sure," said Sirius, with a shrug.

Even Arthur and Molly nodded.

"Genial," said Draco, in a rare moment of French. Bill saw his lips twitch, like he wanted to smile.

"So what's first?" asked Ginny.

"First, I get you your dinner," said Molly to Draco. "You can't work on an empty stomach."

"I'm fine," said Draco.

"Nonsense. I saved a plate specifically for you," said Molly, and then she bustled into the kitchen.

"So," said Ginny again. "What's first?"

"We have to make it public," said Draco. "This trial has to have everyone watching."

"That won't be hard," said Kingsley. "It is the Minister and you're a rather public figure at the moment, and still under inquiry."

Bill saw Draco grimace at that, but the blond pressed on. "We're going to need huge publicity from the very beginning. That's the only thing that's going to make Tierney agree to the Veritaserum."

"He has to agree to it?" asked Hermione.

"And we will only be able to ask certain, specific questions that he and his cabinet have approved. For national security reasons."

Bill frowned. "But that means he can easily tell the truth without admitting to anything."

"Exactly," said Draco. "And we're also going to need to distract Tierney from our actual plan of attack. We can't have him know which direction we're taking the trial."

Bill could see the rest of the Order looked as confused and frustrated as he felt.

"Draco," he said. "How about you explain this to us from the very top. Use tiny words."

Draco nodded, his cheeks flushing oh-so-slightly. "Sorry," he said. "Alright, so here's the plan…"

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So, it's a bit shorter than other chapters, but it was a good stopping point, and I want the trial to play out by itself. That'll be in the next chapter in two weeks. Please leave a review!


	29. The Trial of the Century

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I wouldn't have to worry about moving down to grad school. I would hire people to build me an apartment and move my stuff. Preferably while I'm lying on the couch.

Author's note: Guess what? I'm alive. Sorry about the wait. I didn't realize what a hassle it was to graduate. And now I have to find an apartment for grad school and move. Wow. Rather intense, but also exciting. Anyway, without further ado, the chapter that took too long to post….

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England's magical courthouse, the House of Law, had been built in 1408, sanctioned by the Minister Archibald Fenmaster. During his reign, he had been known as the Right Arm of the Law, Father of Justice, and Honest Archy. The courthouse was the greatest construction of the time and was still heralded as the pinnacle of wizarding architecture. Seven enormous pillars, representing the seven virtues, graced the front of the courthouse above fifteen marble steps, representing the Fifteen Steps to Illumination, as described by Mage Tau. Stained glass windows, depicting the capture, trial, and execution of the infamous Pieter Paracelsius, were set on each side of the hall.

Inside were three courtrooms. The room on the right was for civil disputes. The left for criminal cases. In the middle was the largest room, used for the swearing in of the Cabinet and other government officials. In this room, right above the Judge's desk, the portrait of Archibald Fenmaster hung for a grand total of three years after his death.

In the fourth year after his demise, documents surfaced linking him to the death of several Ministry administrators, the bribery of an entire department of Aurors, and the criminal organization Black Thorne. His portrait was moved to a holding cell in the House of Law and had stayed there ever since. It was reported that the portrait hadn't stopped laughing yet.

Draco ignored the constrained chaos behind him. He was in the third courtroom, a large, grand room with polished wood floors and walls. Now, above the Judge's desk was a large painting of the Lady Justice, eyes covered by a shining white cloth that gently blew in the breeze. Her expression was serene, even with the near roar of the crowd in the audience's chamber.

Draco sat at the prosecuting table, separated from the crowd only by a waist high banister. He could just make out the voices of the most popular radio broadcasters, shouting into their microphones in order to be heard for their listeners at home. Most of the Ministry was in attendance, and instead of behaving in a calm manner, as befitting of their stations, most were talking excitedly. This was the trial of the century after all.

Normally, the wizarding media was not present during a trial, but the Ministry had been unable to keep the reporters out. The Minister was accused, and the public demanded a right to follow the case. And not all of the Ministry wanted to keep the media attention low. Draco knew that Tierney had pushed for media coverage, despite the misgivings of the cabinet and Wizengamot. Tierney was confident that he would be acquitted; he wanted all of England to witness his triumph.

The Wizengamot had conceded, but only allowed a few select reporters to be in attendance. The rest of the audience was made up of Ministry officials and those who were able to cash in on a favor. Draco had been allowed to admit a few guests into the audience. Dumbledore had procured his own admittance, and so Draco had admitted the rest of the Weasley family along with Harry, Hermione, and Sirius. They were sitting in the back of the room, with the rest of the non-government guests. Draco wished they were sitting behind him, but only for the noise buffer. He glanced over at Ginny who was seated beside him.

He had made her his partner, knowing that she would want to participate in the trial. She wasn't as nervous as he thought she would be, but she had admitted that the clothes he had bought for her helped. She looked extremely professional, in a deep purple skirt and robe suit. Her hair was twisted into a smooth French twist, a look that was becoming, but he liked her hair down and wavy.

She looked over, catching his eyes, and flashed him a small smile. He smirked back and then resumed his position staring forward. Three days of preparation had brought him here, and he was ready.

Three days ago he had strode into the Ministry of Magic with two Aurors flanking him, trying to keep up with him as he crossed the crowded Atrium and rode the elevators to the Minister's floor. He had been announced into the hall outside of the Minister's office, marched over to Percy Weasley's desk, and dropped the court summons in front of the 'surprised' Assistant.

"I'm suing the Minister," he announced, "for the wrongful arrest and execution of my father Lucius Malfoy. I am sure I will be hearing from your lawyers."

And then he had left, leaving the floor in stunned silence behind him. The court summons had originally been for the very next day, but it was the Minister he was up against. Certain aspects of the trial had to be specifically tailored for such a sensitive case and that took time. He hadn't minded the wait. It gave him ample time to plan.

Draco sat up straighter as the door beside the Judge's stand opened and the bailiff stepped through in the traditional navy robes.

"Please rise for His Honour Judge Whitman," he announced.

The clamor initially increased, as the audience rose, but then the voices fell silent in anticipation. Draco took a breath as he stood and held it for a moment before releasing. He didn't need to worry. Even if his first plan failed, there was still Percy Weasley's testimony. The Judge appeared, his black robes impeccably pressed, his white curled wig in perfect place. He walked up the few steps to his stand and then sat.

Draco retook his seat, hearing the audience do the same. For the first time, he looked over to the defense table. Tierney sat smugly, surrounded by his team of lawyers. Draco looked back to the Judge. Whitman was taking his time, looking through the pages on his desk. He waited until the court squirmed in anticipation, the silence only broken by the soft whispers of the reporters into their microphones.

The Judge nodded to the bailiff who shut the back door and then strode to the center of the room, in front of the stand.

"This is case number three-seven-two-five-eight, Mr. Draco Malfoy against Minister Osmond Tierney. Court is now in session, the honorable Judge Whitman presiding."

The bailiff strode back to his corner. The Judge peered over the top of his stand to survey the courtroom.

"We are all aware of the significance of this case," he said. "And, while I understand the importance of the proceedings here today, if at any moment, the media becomes too much of a distraction, I will not hesitate to throw the whole lot of you out on account of disorderly conduct and sequester the hearing. I hope that is understood."

The Judge stared balefully at the audience and then looked back down at his papers.

"The inner court of the Wizengamot will be serving as jury today," he continued, and then looked up. Above the room, in a wrap around balcony, sat the inner court. They were a grave, silent group, staring down that the audience below.

"This is a delicate matter," said Whitman. "The Minister is privy to many confidential matters of great import to our nation's security. We obviously cannot have the Minister under Veritaserum answering sensitive questions. We will not be using the serum today, unless it is proven necessary. Instead, a Sterling Lie Detector will be put to use and the prosecutor will be limited to the questions he has already submitted to the court. If the prosecution wishes to ask a follow-up question, one which has not been cleared, the question must be submitted to the cabinet for deliberation. Mr. Malfoy," and now the Judge turned to him, "should you stray from the list of acceptable questions, you will be charged with treason. Are you aware of these consequences?"

Draco leaned forward to the voice amplifier sitting on his table. "Quite," he said dryly.

The audience behind him tittered nervously. The Judge silenced them with a glare.

Yesterday, Draco had received the edited list of questions he had sent in to the cabinet. All of his clever phrasings, the ones that would force Tierney into admitting his involvement in the Dementor attack, had been skillfully reworded. None of the questions would win his case. While Draco understood the need to protect the nation through the screening of the questions, he chafed under the restrictions because now it was being used to protect the guilty.

"If the Minister will come forward," said Whitman, "we'll jump right in."

Draco liked Judge Whitman. He had little tolerance for the posturing of lawyers and often tired of court etiquette, but he had never had a case declared a mistrial due to improper procedure. Draco was going to use that to his advantage.

Tierney took the stand, wearing his trademark pin-striped dress robes. His expression was calm, the tilt of his head arrogant. His eyes swept once towards Draco, his gaze black with threat.

"Bailiff," said Whitman.

The Bailiff stepped forward with the silver lie detector. He placed it on the banister in front of Tierney.

"Minister," said the Bailiff, "please place your wand at your heart."

Tierney raised his wand to his chest.

"Do you pledge to speak the truth with your heart and tongue?"

"I so pledge," said Tierney.

"Bailiff, commence with the preliminary examination questions."

And now it began. Three questions were to be asked. Two were to be answered truthfully, the third dishonestly, in order to ascertain the proper functioning of the lie detector.

"Minister, please answer truthfully," the Bailiff instructed. "What is your full name?"

"Osmond Cartier Tierney," said the Minister strongly.

The lie detector sent out a golden beam of light.

"Minister, please answer truthfully. What is your current occupation?"

"I am the Minister of Magic," said Tierney.

Again, the instrument glowed gold.

"Minister, on this question, please answer untruthfully. On which day were you born?"

"October tenth," said Tierney.

A brilliant red light shot out of the silver instrument. A lie.

"And now truthfully, Minister?"

"October ninth," said Tierney.

The light changed to gold.

"Advocate Cafferty," said Judge Whitman, "are you satisfied with the ability of this detector?"

Tierney's lawyer leaned forward to the voice amplifier. "I am satisfied."

"Mr. Malfoy, are you satisfied?"

Draco glanced at Tierney, then at his lawyer, and said, clearly, "No."

The Judge blinked in surprise and Cafferty turned his head to stare at him.

"The detector correctly indicated the falsehood, Mr. Malfoy," said Whitman.

"Yes, it did," Draco agreed.

"Then what complaint do you have?"

"The detector did not indicate a falsehood when it should have," said Draco. "The Minister's full name is Osmond Cartier Harold Tierney. He stopped using the name 'Harold' upon his graduation from Durmstrang, but never legally dropped it. When asked for his full name, he should have included 'Harold' in order to have given the full truth. Because he did not, the detector should have shown a falsehood."

"Are you requesting that the detector be registered as damaged?"

"No. I believe that the Minister truly regards his full name as Osmond Cartier Tierney. He believed his answer to be the truthful one, and that is all the detector can test."

"Then why are you unsatisfied?" asked Whitman, a trifle testily.

"Your Honour, it is court procedure that the witness, using a lie detector, answers two questions truthfully, and one untruthfully to ascertain that the detector is properly functioning. He did not, technically, answer two questions truthfully. Cases have been dismissed for smaller slights than this."

"And what is it you want?"

"A second preliminary question to be answered truthfully. If the cabinet could come up with another question, we can proceed without fear of attack from those who will examine every aspect of this trial. The question should be something that many people are witnessed to, so the truth is without debate. Something visible and powerful, so anyone who doubts the truth would obviously be demented."

"I am aware of what should constitute a safety question, Mr. Malfoy," said the Judge.

"I'm sorry, Your Honor," said Draco. "I don't mean to patronize."

The Judge gave him a sour look, but then looked to the members of the cabinet who were seated behind Tierney's lawyers.

"If the cabinet has no objections, I believe I can provide another preliminary question."

The cabinet leaned their heads together. While several members of the cabinet were supporters of Tierney's policies, none of them knew Tierney's true loyalties. It only took a moment for them to confer, and then John Kelly, Head of the Cabinet, stood.

"We have no objections, Your Honour."

And why would they? These preliminary checks were obvious questions with obvious answers. Whitman was a respected judge, privy to many state secrets himself. He had also served on the cabinet two decades ago. If the Judge said he had a question, they would allow it.

Here it was. It wasn't really Whitman's question, though the Judge would believe he had come up with it on his own. Draco had baited the question as much as he could, using the words 'debate', 'attack', 'demented' and 'patronize'. Tierney had proofed the interrogation questions, and so Draco had looked for another route to snare the Minister. His fingers flew in their pattern underneath the table as the Judge turned to Tierney.

"Minister, please answer truthfully," he said. "What is the form of your Patronus?"

And Draco couldn't help but smirk as Tierney's face blanched. The Minister turned cold eyes onto him as he realized Draco's trap. Draco's smirk widened as he floundered.

Tierney's pause grew. If the Minister maintained the silence any longer, suspicions would arise. Draco saw Tierney's eyes dart to the lie detector and his hands grasped the edges of his chair.

"A griffin," he said, staring at the lie detector, as if willing the instrument to shine gold. These detectors weren't foolproof, but only one skilled at Occlumency could mask their responses. Tierney was not so skilled. A red light shot into the air.

The courtroom fell silent.

"Minister," said Judge Whitman. "Could you repeat that?"

No one had realized yet that Tierney was lying. The more innocent answer, a defective detector, was the only answer the audience entertained at this moment.

"My Patronus is a griffin," Tierney repeated.

The red light did not waver.

"My Patronus is a griffin!"

Tierney turned to the Judge.

"The detector must be malfunctioning," he said. The pallor of his face betrayed his fear.

The Judge motioned the Bailiff forward. The Bailiff checked the lie detector as the whispers in the courtroom started.

"There is no damage," the Bailiff reported.

"Minister," said the Judge, "one more try, please answer truthfully."

"I am answering truthfully!" Tierney insisted. The red light shot up at those words.

Now the truth was dawning on the audience. The whispers grew; Tierney's face went from white to red.

"Minister, the day of the debate," the Judge began. "Did you release a griffin Patronus against the Dementors?"

And Tierney settled back in the seat, temporarily relieved.

"I did release a griffin Patronus," he said, and the lie detector let out the golden beam.

"But your Patronus is not a griffin," said the Judge, proving that he was fully deserving of his title.

"It is a griffin," said Tierney, and the light went red.

"Minister," said the Judge, "I will ask you one more time. If that lie detector does not show truth, I will order this court clear and send for the Veritaserum. What is the form of your Patronus?"

The court fell silent in anticipation. Draco knew half of the audience was holding their breath. He looked at Tierney, raising one eyebrow. Tierney met his gaze, knowing that Draco had won this game. His eyes never wavered as he answered.

"My Patronus is an asp," he said, and the lie detector sent out the gold ray.

Draco expected the uproar to start the second after that admission, but the audience was composed of Ministry officials. In this moment, they were realizing what this confession meant. The silence was a shocked and dreaded quiet.

Judge Whitman continued, his voice steely as he forced the Minister to recount his deeds.

"Did you cast the Patronus charm at the attack at the debate?"

"No," said Tierney, and now he looked away from Draco, towards the back of the courtroom. His expression twisted with hatred as he answered. "I cast a prior incantum on Board member Excelsior Gavin's wand to release the Patronus so I could appear to be fighting the Dementors."

"Did you know the Dementors would attack?"

"I didn't know the exact time, but yes, I knew they would be there. In fact, I helped the Dark Lord plan the skirmish."

Something was wrong. Draco sat up further, his eyebrows furrowed. Why was Tierney confessing so readily? This wasn't Tierney's style. Tierney wouldn't have admitted his actions without a battle. He should be trying to weasel his way out of the charges. He should be calling for a lawyer, or feigning a seizure, or finding some way to place the blame on another.

Draco twisted in his seat, glancing about the courtroom, not knowing exactly what he was looking for, but finding it when he saw an unobtrusive brunette sitting halfway back in the audience. He couldn't see her hands, but her expression was locked on Tierney and her mouth was whispering words. Draco recognized the use of the Imperius Curse.

Draco looked to Dumbledore, sitting only two rows away. He caught the Headmaster's gaze and looked meaningfully at the woman. Dumbledore followed his line of sight and he nodded. Draco cast one more look at the woman, memorizing her features, but then she turned, locking eyes with him, and Draco knew who she was.

Claire Jameson.

"I hope you all burn!" Tierney screamed from the stand.

Draco whipped around to the witness stand where Tierney was ripping off his watch.

"No!" Draco shouted.

Tierney threw the watch to the floor. There was an explosion, a deafening rush of sound, though Draco could make out the terrified screams of the audience beneath the cacophony. He lunged for Ginny, forcing her to the ground as he whisked out his wand. Flames leapt high, bursting forward in a blinding light. Draco shut his eyes against the bright, ceiling-high flames.

The light was oppressive, heating the entire room, scorching as they expanded out, quicker than a Firebolt. Before Draco could think of a single spell, the heat was gone, and the red of the inside of his eyelids fell to black. He carefully opened his eyes and turned his head to the witness stand where Tierney once stood. Now, the Minister was on the floor, singed and burnt, but moaning and writhing.

Behind Draco, the shrieks died out as the audience raised their heads. He turned to the back of the room, seeing a few cautious head peek up from the rows of chairs.

Three people stood tall, a woman and two men, their wands pointed at the witness stand. The woman pulled out a badge. She was short, with blonde hair cut in an attractive bob. Her voice was no-nonsense.

"Everyone, please remain calm. I am Auror Helena Greenwich, and these are my colleagues, Aurors George Parrish and Rudy Costace. If you will please regain your seats, we will take the Minister into custody, and then after the Judge dismisses the court, we will begin taking your statements. I thank you for the cooperation I'm sure you will give."

So, these must be part of the Civis Arma. Draco had to give them credit. They seemed to be quite prepared. He glanced towards Percy Weasley, who was doing an admirable job of gazing at the three Aurors in surprise. If he looked a little more shaken, like the rest of the audience, Draco might believe he really was unaware of the three Aurors undercover in attendance.

Draco got to his feet, scanning the room for Claire but not expecting to find her. She was nowhere to be seen. She had a way with escapes. Draco turned to offer a hand to Ginny, but she was already rising.

"Wow," she said.

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Ginny got to her feet, ignoring the hand from Draco because she could stand up by herself. She liked the consideration though.

"Wow," was all she could think of to say.

Draco's lips quirked at that. She smiled back, wishing that she could take his hand or give him a kiss, because they nearly were incinerated, but she had a professional attitude to maintain. Maybe he had the same desire for some physical contact, or maybe he was just being courteous, but he righted her chair and held it out for her. When she sat, his hand brushed her shoulder.

He dragged his own chair back up to the table and they watched the Aurors pull Tierney to his feet and hustle him out the back door. When he was out of sight, Ginny turned around to see the rest of the courtroom nearly fully recovered. There were excited conversations and gestures of disbelief. The reporters were half-shouting into their microphones to be heard over the chaos.

Judge Whitman was conversing with the Bailiff and the woman Auror. The Judge's white wig was singed black and missing half of one side. He discarded it as he climbed once more to his stand. Without it, he had a severely receded hair line.

"Ladies and gentleman," he called, banging his gavel loudly. "Ladies and gentlemen, please, decorum!"

It took a few moments for the audience to fall silent and reclaim their seats.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the Judge for the third time. "After the revelations in the case, the Minister has been arrested on account of treason and for planning and committing acts of violence against this country. He is hereby relieved of his duty as Minister of this country. An investigation of Mr. Tierney has begun and more information will be released as it is gathered." The Judge turned to Draco. "At this time, Mr. Malfoy, this case is suspended for the criminal trial of Osmund Tierney. You will be contacted when your case is ready to resume."

"Understood, Your Honour," said Draco.

"Mr. Weasley," the Judge continued.

Ginny was startled at the use of her family name and then looked over to see Percy sitting with the members of the cabinet. She hadn't seen him there. She had forgotten that he would be present. It was easy to forget about him, even though that thought made her feel guilty. But, in such a large family, absences, especially long ones, were covered by the noise of everyone else, and Percy had always been the quiet one.

Her brother stood, tall in conservative, but well-tailored robes of navy blue. His glasses and neat hair made him look older than his twenty-three years. Or was he twenty-four now? No, he must be twenty-three. She had to count up from her own age. Ron was almost eighteen. The twins were twenty. Percy was twenty-three.

Now Percy was looking at the Judge, quietly waiting, despite the fact that every eye was on him.

"Your Honour," he said.

"You are, once more, Acting Minister until another election can be held."

Acting Minister. It sounded so prestigious. Ginny knew there were a dozen restrictions and limitation for an Acting Minister, as opposed to a full one, but still, her brother, her twenty-three year old brother, was in charge of the entire country. And he didn't even look phased at the charge from the judge.

"Understood, Your Honour," was all he said.

Judge Whitman sent a small, grim smile in his direction.

"Mr. Weasley," he said again.

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Perhaps you ought to consider running for Minister next season. For re-election."

It was a dark sort of humor, if there was any other type of political humor. Nearly the entire audience chuckled, quietly and grimly. Ginny wondered if it was some sort of running joke in the office. Percy gave a wan smile.

"The court is dismissed," said the Judge, "but you will have to remain here for the time being. Aurors will be calling individuals out to take statements, and you can leave from there. We are adjourned." Whitman banged the gavel down.

The courtroom was filled with conversations once more. Ginny turned towards Draco, but then her attention was caught by the way the Judge stepped down from the stand and made his way over to Percy. In fact, several important officials were gathered around her brother and he seemed to be giving them instructions. Everyone was listening intently, nodding in agreement, sometimes speaking. When others did talk, Percy listened, appearing to be quite attentive. Ginny felt a stirring of pride for her brother. He looked like he belonged there.

Ginny glanced back, trying to see if her family was seeing Percy run the country. She would have stood on her tiptoes, but her heels were so high, she didn't think it was possible to get any higher. She finally spotted them, speaking to Dumbledore in the middle of the room. Bill waved to her, but no one glanced over to Percy, no one noticed.

She looked back at Percy.

"You can go over and say 'hi'," said Draco.

Ginny turned to her boyfriend. He shrugged, his fine robes rippling with the motion.

"The Aurors said you had to stay in the room, not that you were confined to your seat."

Ginny hesitated then shook her head.

"I can't go over now. It'll look bad."

Draco frowned.

"It'll look like I'm kissing up to him now that he's in charge," she elaborated. She didn't want Percy thinking she only cared about his position.

"You're all Gryffindors," said Draco. "Would he really think that?"

She shrugged. He probably wouldn't, but there was a chance. Percy knew she wanted to go into law. What if he thought she was just trying to use their sibling connection? She hadn't been able to talk to him when he was in the hospital. She was a Gryffindor, yes, but the thought of alienating her family because she sided with Percy scared her. Charlie walked the fence much better than she did.

So Ginny stared at Percy, wishing she had the guts to march right over and give him a hug. Or shake his hand, since that would be more professional. She didn't though.

Percy stilled and then looked over, as if sensing her gaze. He looked startled at catching her staring, just as startled as she was for being caught. She flushed, but smiled and waved.

He smiled back, and she couldn't tell if the smile was real – he was across the room – but he waved as well, a small motion, more of a fluttering of the fingers, and then he turned back to his discussion.

Ginny smiled, pleased to have some contact with her brother. She looked back to Draco and noticed the amusement in his eyes.

"So," she said, to change the subject, "how long do you think you'll have to wait before the case is reopened?"

"Depends," said Draco. "The investigation should be quick, because Tierney hasn't been in office that long, so not past a week I'm guessing."

Ginny nodded.

"Advocate Preston is here," said Draco suddenly.

Ginny raised her eyebrows.

"Come with me," Draco commanded. He touched her hand and tugged gently. The contact made her smile, even if he did relinquish his grip not a moment later. She followed as Draco navigated through the crowd. It didn't look like anyone had been called out just yet. She wondered how long it would take.

"Advocate Preston," Draco called.

Preston was a man Ginny recognized. He was the leading prosecuting attorney in England and he wasn't afraid to take on cases that were unwinnable. For him, it wasn't about a record of wins, but bringing the guilty to justice. Even when, after trying his hardest to convict, the defendant was released, Preston was satisfied that he had done all he could in the name of justice. He was a bit of a hero for Ginny, even though she found his tireless pursuit for justice a little…well, the Tom Riddle in her scoffed. Sometimes, when people were too good, they were also a little flat personality-wise.

Preston was in the middle of a conversation, but when he saw Draco, he immediately stopped and walked over to greet him. The two shook hands.

"Mr. Malfoy," said Preston. "I haven't had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, but let me compliment your legal debut."

Draco gave a crooked smirk. "Thank you. I actually have some business to talk with you, if you have a few minutes."

"Of course," said Preston.

"I wondered if you wanted to take over my case."

Ginny glanced to Draco in surprise.

"I'm sorry. What?" asked Preston, just as shocked.

"I've made my waves," said Draco. "Proved my point. Honestly, I find court tiresome. Too many little details to worry about and the paperwork is a headache. I admire your work, as I've said before, and you're probably the only one I would trust to see this case through."

"I am flattered," said Preston. "Shocked and flattered, but to be completely honest, I haven't a clue where you are going with this case." Preston hesitated, but seemed to decide on bluntness. "Lucius Malfoy is guilty. How could you expect to win this case?"

"Of course he's guilty," said Draco. He shrugged again, that shrug that said he didn't care. Ginny could see the storm in his eyes though. He did care.

"I'm not out to prove his innocence," Draco continued, "just that he was wrongly accused and wrongly convicted. Bellatrix Lestrange's testimony should not have been allowed in court."

Preston was intrigued. He stepped forward, eyebrows furrowed. Draco explained further.

"In times of war, an enemy's testimony can be admitted, but because Tierney was in on the attack, this wasn't a war, it was a coup d'état. Therefore, her testimony is inadmissible and struck from the record. Lucius Malfoy was convicted solely on her witness."

Preston stared at Draco and then laughed. "Incredible," he said. "Are you sure you don't wish to go into law. Your concept of the word 'technicality' is astounding."

Draco shook his head. "Like I said, too many details, too much paperwork."

Ginny knew it was more than that though. Draco grew bored easily. He could solve the world's biggest problems, but once he understood the solution, once he created the potion or translated runes or wrote a symphony, the thrill was gone. He didn't want to take the time to explain it, or share it, with the world. He left that tedious task to other people.

"And after you've done all the work to get to this point," said Preston, "you're willing to simply hand over the case?"

"I have two conditions," said Draco.

"You have me at a disadvantage," said Preston. "I'd do mostly anything for this case."

"I assure you, nothing drastic," said Draco. "Firstly, I'd like you to take my associate Ginevra Weasley on the case. As an intern, or paralegal, or whatever you see fit, but she's done an amazing job for me, helping me organize the case files and preparing for the examinations. She has an extensive knowledge of law and court procedure."

Ginny blushed, just a little.

"I'm sure she'll be an asset to our team," said Preston, turning to Ginny and smiling. "Planning on a career in court then?"

"Yes," said Ginny, nodding vigorously.

"We have a few summer positions available for students who are interested in the law. After this case, perhaps you would still be interested in applying?"

"I'm sure I will be," said Ginny, unable to stop the smile that grew across her face. She'd been worried that Draco dropping the case would mean she would have to let it go as well, but leave it to her boyfriend to have already considered that.

"And secondly?" asked Preston.

"My father is buried at Azkaban," said Draco, surprising Ginny by saying 'father'. She'd thought he would distance himself from Lucius. Apparently Draco had other ideas.

"You demand what reparations you see fit," he said, "but I want his body. I don't want him to stay there."

Preston nodded. "Of course."

Draco gave a polite smile. "Thank you for accepting."

"Thank you," said Preston, reaching out to shake Draco's hand once more. He then shook Ginny's. She was sure to provide a firm handclasp.

"I look forward to working with you in the future," said Preston.

"Thank you," Ginny responded.

Draco walked back to the prosecutor's table. Ginny gave her parents a wave and followed him, despite the fact that her family gestured for her to join them.

"Thanks," said Ginny, when she reclaimed her seat.

Draco arched his brow in question.

"For letting me stay with the case," she elaborated.

Draco shrugged away her gratitude.

"How long do you think we'll be stuck here?" she asked.

"Not too long," said Draco. "They'll take Whitman first, then the cabinet. Then it should be us, because we were the prosecutors. After that, they'll go by rank. Cafferty and his team will be last because they'll have the longest interrogation time. They might get charged with aiding an enemy of the state."

"Do you think they knew?"

"About Tierney and the Dementors? No. They were just after the Minister's favor."

"But they'll still get charged?"

"Yes. It's one of the perils of being a professional lackey."

Ginny laughed.

"You know," said Draco suddenly, "we'll probably get out hours before your family is dismissed."

"Hours," Ginny mused. She batted her lashes at her boyfriend. "Why, Mr. Malfoy, whatever are you proposing?"

She saw the twitch of his lips, which meant if he were anyone else, he would be smiling. Ginny liked the small softening of his mouth though. It made him look almost angelic.

"Well, I do have hundreds of galleons to blow through."

"Only hundreds?"

"Millions," he amended. "Hundreds of millions."

"You know, I've never seen Paris," said Ginny. She was feeling adventurous and he did have a ridiculous amount of money. "Can we get there and back in a couple of hours?"

Draco leaned in, and this time his lips stretched further. "With hundreds of millions of galleons, we could get there in a matter of seconds, dine at the finest restaurants, catch a matinee, and be back without anyone suspecting a thing. What do you say, Miss Weasley?"

"Yes," said Ginny. "I say, 'yes'."

And then Draco's lips turned up and parted to reveal his perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth. It was the first open smile she had ever seen on him and the effect was staggering. His eyes shone silver, his snow complexion seemed to glow. If he looked angelic before, he was Adonis now, but yet not unreachable or unattainable. That was probably because, on one side of his mouth, adding in a boyish, innocent element was –

"Oh my goodness," Ginny exclaimed delightedly. "You have a dimple!"

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Hi. Again, sorry about the wait. The good news is, I graduate from college! And I'm going to grad school! As an apology, I'll have the next chapter up in a week. Hear that? One week. Yay!


	30. Choosing a Minister

Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine. Sometimes, when the clock reads 11:11, I make a little silly wish that they were. It obviously hasn't come true yet.

Author's note: Yeah, yeah. An hour late….my bad.

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Draco woke up in his room. His room.

For a moment he simply stared at the ceiling, the high, painted, ornate ceiling. He breathed in and rolled over onto his side to glance at the clock. He could have rolled over three times and still not rolled out of bed.

The pearl face on the large mahogany clock was lit by the moonlight spilling through the open glass doors. It was not yet five o'clock. The predawn breeze was soft with a slight chill. It made him pause under the covers and contemplate closing his eyes and trying to fall back to sleep. He wouldn't be able to, he didn't have that ability to simply turn over and drift back into sleep, but he was comfortable, relaxed. The trial had gone according to plan yesterday, and then he and Ginny had taken off for Paris. It had been an enjoyable afternoon, one he remembered in perfect detail. He had enjoyed himself. She made him…happy. It wasn't an emotion he was used to.

Draco stretched and then kicked off the covers the way one did when completely accustomed to a thousand thread Egyptian cotton. He crossed over to his wardrobe, his bare feet sinking into plush Oriental carpet, and quickly dressed in the first clothes his hands closed on, gray trousers and a white silk shirt. He left his room and walked silently down the hall. It was unnecessary to be so quiet, the rest of the Order was housed in the guest wing, but old habits returned too easily.

He left through the back door on the East wing and walked through the perfectly trimmed grass, dew soaking his feet and the hem of his trousers. He shivered once, and immediately the breeze rose a few degrees, until it was a warm caress, countering the cool dew. He hadn't realized how attuned the weather charms were to the master of the estate.

He walked past the labyrinth constructed of large hedges, and past the large marble fountain that also doubled as a swimming pool. He walked to a large oak tree, on the outskirts of the yard, nearer the woods than the house. The wooden swing Lukas had constructed was still hanging from the nearest branch, fifteen feet up. Draco remembered watching his half-brother magic the ropes up to the branch and knot themselves. He'd then picked Draco up and set him on the wood plank. It was a simple toy, almost crude for a boy who lived in a silk and silver nursery, but it was his favorite plaything. Lucius had never taken it down.

Draco sat on the swing now and pushed himself back. With a few strong pumps, he was swinging high, the wind pulling through his hair and clothes. The moon was beginning her descent, but was still beaming strongly. Pale light glistened on the dewy lawn and reflected off of his hair. In the east, the sky faded from black to dark blue.

Movement caught his attention. At first, all he could make out was a shadow, detaching from the woods, running low to the ground, indistinguishable from the distance. Draco dragged his feet in the grass to slow. The shadow changed direction to move towards him. It was an animal, black as the night. Draco stopped completely. The animal abruptly folded over on itself and stretched higher. Now it was human.

"Can't sleep?" the figure asked. It was Sirius.

Draco shrugged. "I was asleep, but I woke up."

Sirius grinned and walked closer. "Me too. You get that from your mother's side, you know. Black's have never needed a lot of sleep. They say somewhere back generations there's a vampire in the lines."

Sirius settled himself leaning against the oak. Draco pushed the swing back and swung lightly, letting his feet skim the damp grass. He waited and Sirius finally spoke.

"I asked Sam if she wanted to come back."

Draco didn't respond.

"She said she'd talk about it with you."

"I got the letter last night," said Draco.

Sirius waited.

"I didn't know that your relationship had progressed so far," said Draco.

"You make it sound like we're getting married," said Sirius. "We're not even dating, not exactly. Just…staying in contact."

There was another pause.

"What did you tell her?" Sirius asked.

"What do you think?" Draco responded neutrally.

"I think it shouldn't matter what you told her. She's a grown woman."

"She's a Muggle."

"That doesn't mean she's incapable of making her own decisions."

"It does when it relates to the magical world. She doesn't know the danger and I do."

"She can be protected."

"And what? Stay here for a year? Two years? Five years? Who knows how long the conflict will last. She'd be stuck here. Not be able to leave for fear of getting killed."

"She doesn't have to stay here. We can give her protection without putting her under house arrest."

"When the war starts in earnest, we wouldn't be able to afford that protection."

"The war might not even be a war. Harry could kill Voldemort next week for all we know."

"Are you willing to risk her life on that?" asked Draco. "She'd be a target, you know that. I know that. Lucius knew that."

"Lucius?" asked Sirius.

Draco stopped the swing and looked over.

"She was threatened. Do you think the Dar – Voldermort is that considerate?"

"You mean Lucius destroyed their house?"

"It was a warning."

"Hell of a warning."

Draco shrugged. "It worked. The point was made."

"Lucius warned them," said Sirius, sounding disbelieving, but Draco knew it had been Lucius.

"Blood is thicker than magic," he said simply.

"Lucius was a Pureblood believer."

"No. He was a believer in the old traditions. The two just coincided."

Sirius was silent for a moment, staring up at the sky.

"Don't you want them back?" he asked finally.

"I knew them half a year, not even that."

"Isn't blood thicker than time?"

"That metaphor makes no sense," said Draco, but he knew what Sirius meant. It confused him, this concept of family. As if he should be closer to his family, after knowing them for five months, than with, say, Blaise.

"You must miss them," Sirius prodded.

Draco sighed. "Certain moments, I wish they were here. But I don't relate well with them. They're very…stressful to have around. I'm not keeping them away simply because I don't like them. I have to consider what is best for them, and while, yes, it's easier to do that because I'm not entirely close with them, I do…I regret not being able to know them further. It would be nice to have people first concerned about me."

"You don't think we're concerned about you?"

"I think that you already have family you belong to first, and everyone else comes second. I think I would like to be first, someday."

"Did Lucius-?"

"No. First the family name, second the business, thirdly him, but I think sometimes I tied for third."

"What about you? Who's first?"

Draco snorted. "Me, obviously."

"Really?" Sirius seemed genuinely surprised. "It seems to me you're not always acting in your best interests. I mean, getting recaptured by Voldemort and pulling me out of the Veil? I hear that didn't turn out so well for you."

"But I wanted to do those things, to promote my own agenda." Draco gave Sirius a sidelong look. "You know," he said, "I'm not stopping you from visiting Sam. I'm not thrilled with the idea, but I'm not stopping you."

Sirius shook his head. "I don't think I could leave."

"Because Harry's number one for you," said Draco. "Motivated largely by guilt, of course, at least in the beginning."

Sirius shot him a look. Draco shrugged.

"You know everything, kid?"

"No. Just a lot."

Sirius chuckled. "Alright. What about Bill? Who's his number one?"

"Not me, if that's what you're thinking," said Draco. "His switches. He's got a lot of people close to him and who depend on him. Sometimes, I'm his primary concern, but then he feels guilty about Fleur and Lukas. And then when he's thinking about them, he feels guilty for not worrying about me. It's a common thread with you people. Guilt. You, Bill, Dumbledore. You should get that looked at."

"You're hilarious," said Sirius.

Draco shrugged. "I try."

The sky was paling further in the eastern corner. Draco stood.

"Breakfast is at eight," he said. "Dumbledore wants to talk."

Sirius followed him in.

Draco went back to his room to shower and change. It was still too early by the time he was dressed for the day, and so he stopped by his office. Malfoy Inc. didn't come with a lot of work for Draco to do. He trusted the executives Lucius had appointed to tend to the menial tasks. It was a good thing he wasn't swamped with paperwork as well. With Tierney gone, once again the Ministry was in need of a Minister.

This time, there would be no public debates. The vote would not be given to the wizards and witches of England. There had been a coup -- well, not really because Tierney wasn't exactly a Death Eater, but he would be found guilty of consorting with Voldemort, and that would be enough – and after such, it was up to the Wizengamot to vote in a Minister. That didn't mean Draco didn't get a say. He could throw his support behind a nominee of his choice. The nominees came from the Board of District Officials, and Draco had a few connections there, as did Dumbledore. He just hoped he and Dumbledore were on the same page this time.

Draco knew who he wanted to nominate for Minister. All he had to do was convince the rest. Last time, he had taken the direct approach, and it hadn't worked. He would have to be a little more subtle this time. And reinforcements wouldn't hurt. He sent an owl to Pansy and Blaise, inviting them to breakfast.

Ginny found him in his study. She knocked on the open door to get his attention.

"Getting an early start?" she asked.

"I thought it'd be prudent," said Draco.

She walked over to perch on the desk. "Should I expect a display of fireworks over breakfast?" she asked.

"I hope not," said Draco. "But then again, it is politics."

"And before coffee," said Ginny.

"I'm sure Dumbledore will wait for coffee at least. He is reputed to be wise."

Ginny laughed and they walked out of the office together.

"So, any ideas for Minister?" Ginny asked. "It's only fair you put one in after taking one out."

"I have an idea," Draco allowed.

"Feel like sharing?"

"I was going for the surprise factor."

"I could act surprised," said Ginny. She made the appropriate 'shocked' face, hands clasped at her heart.

He smirked, she smiled, he paused and pulled her in for a quick kiss before they reached the dining room.

Draco felt good. Since the moment he had woken up, it was like the sun had broken through clouds after a week of rain. Lucius was dead, yes, but Draco had won his revenge against Tierney. He would have his revenge against Voldemort too, he knew he would, but right now, he was content to wait. He had his home again, and he was surround by people who, even if he wasn't their first consideration, still looked after him. And Ginny was standing before him, her hair brushed straight and smooth, falling against her cheek, and he reached out to brush the strands back. His fingertips skimmed against her soft skin, so soft he could spend eternity with just that contact, and that one, brief brush wasn't enough, so his thumb caressed her cheekbone once his fingers had passed.

His eyes followed his thumb's path. He took in every detail of her cheek, the light complexion, the gentle contour, the light smattering of freckles. His gaze drifted up from her cheek to her eyes, beautiful, shining topaz.

Draco suddenly wondered if she was the charm that had brought all his luck to him, if she was the cause for everything good thing in his life. He had never deserved such blessings; it must be because of her. But why was she here, standing before him, with such a light in her eyes, with that small, gentle smile on her lips?

He realized he was staring too long when her brow furrowed. Some of his bewilderment must have showed on his face, but he could only watch as her head tilted to the side, her hair falling in a wave with the motion.

"What?" she asked with a smile.

Draco tried to shrug, tried to say 'nothing' and move on, but the words didn't come and his body didn't respond. He stared helplessly at her, trying to understand, his mind stuck on the mystery that was Ginevra Weasley.

Ginny stepped closer, her hand reaching out to brush his cheek.

"You look like you're trying to solve the mystery of life," she said. "Don't you have enough to worry about?"

Her eyes darkened a shade, concerned for him. He hadn't meant to worry her and that was enough to spur him into action. He took a quick step back, disengaging. He forced serenity onto his face.

"You can find most of the constellations in your freckles," he said.

She blinked, startled by his comment.

"You were memorizing my freckles?" she asked.

"I have a perfect memory."

"Could you remember me without them?"

Now Draco was startled. "Without your freckles?" he asked. "Why?"

She shrugged. "Never been a fan, really."

"No," said Draco, frowning. He was surprised to find that he was genuinely upset that she didn't like her freckles. He found them exceedingly attractive. She wouldn't be his Ginny without the freckles.

She shrugged again. Draco reached out and traced a finger over her cheek.

"I like them," he promised.

She blushed, just a little. "Well, I'm glad one of us does," she said. "Come on, I'm starving."

"You go ahead," said Draco. "I might have to Floo over to Blaise's because I don't know if their up to get my owl."

"You called for reinforcements?" Ginny asked, correctly guessing his reasons.

"I figured it couldn't hurt," said Draco.

She laughed and then started for the kitchen. Draco watched her go, wondering again how he had arrived her, at this moment, with her. He didn't understand at all, and that should drive him insane, because if it was one thing he needed, it was answers, but when he looked at her, he suddenly didn't mind confusion.

"I saw the way you looked at her."

Draco whirled around, face going blank and his hand reaching for his wand. He was thoroughly startled, and when he saw Mr. Weasley, standing halfway down the hallway, he became thoroughly flustered. He wondered how long Ginny's father had been standing there. Was he talking about gazing after Ginny, or did he see Draco staring at his daughter like an idiot? Either way, it wasn't good.

Mr. Weasley walked down the hallway to stop in front of Draco. Draco barely resisted the urge to step backwards. Ginny was very much a daddy's girl.

"I believed you were smart when you said you were," said Mr. Weasley. "But now I know you can use that head of yours for more than just potions and politics."

"Sir?" asked Draco, thoroughly confused.

"You were looking at her like she was the most amazing thing you have ever seen. Father's like to know that their daughters are recognized as precious and irreplaceable. Because that's exactly what she is."

Draco frowned. He had no idea what Mr. Weasley was saying.

"I would never do anything to hurt her," he started, hoping that was what Mr. Weasley was looking for. He had already promised, but Ginny's father must be trying to get at something and Draco was quite ready to spout out oaths if it meant escaping Mr. Weasley.

Mr. Weasley gave the lightest of chuckles and stepped forward again. He clasped Draco's shoulder and Draco nearly bolted, but Mr. Weasley tightened his grip, not hard, just firmly.

"Hold on there," he said. "I'm not going to start yelling. I'm trying to…well, I'm trying to thank you, I guess."

"But I haven't-,"

"You have," said Mr. Weasley. "I'm her father. I would know."

He patted Draco's shoulder, gave him a half-sad smile, and moved towards the dining room.

"Mr. Weasley," Draco called. The man turned and Draco didn't bother to hide the confusion on his face. "The next time you feel like emoting to me, do you think you could wait until after breakfast, when I might have a better chance at understanding you?"

Mr. Weasley gave a startled laugh. "I'll do my best."

Draco shook his head as the Weasley patriarch turned a corner and passed out of sight. What, in the name of Merlin, had just happened?

A soft pop sounded by his side, and Draco looked down to see Tolly appear.

"Master Blaise Zabini has arrived with Miss Pansy Parkinson. Shall I see them to the dining room?"

"Yes, please," said Draco. And then he headed to the dining room himself.

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Once again, Charlie was lured to an Order meeting under the pretense of food. And while there was food, and it was _really_ good food, that didn't mean he enjoyed sitting through the political agenda of the Order. He didn't understand or like politics. He preferred the tangible. Like the feel of a leather harness in his hand, the strain of his arms and he and ten other men tried to ground a dragon, the feel of the wind on his face when he grabbed hold of tough scales and took a quick ride before being tossed off. He didn't think that made him stupid, just different. He preferred the simple things in life. Like the hourglass shape of a beautiful woman.

Charlie glanced across the table at Pansy. The dark-haired girl had one elbow resting on the table, her hand idling twirling her long, sleek ponytail while her other hand turned her water glass around and around. For all her appearance of disinterest, she was glancing towards the debaters frequently.

"We need a Minister who will recognize the truth to our current struggle," said Albus. He was mainly looking at Draco when he said that.

"We also need a Minister who won't further the tear in the country," Draco countered. "We should either look for a Pureblood candidate, or a Half-blood or Muggle born who is affluent in the business sphere."

Draco, like Pansy, appeared eminently unconcerned with the topic, even though he was arguing against the combined forces of Dumbledore, Sirius, Remus, and Arthur. Charlie could see that his father was growing frustrated at Draco's attitude. The Slytherin wasn't fiddling, like Pansy, but he was lazily rolling his head from Dumbledore to Arthur as they spoke, and occasionally rolling his eyes, and while his posture was correct, his hands often waved in dismissal of a point.

It was funny, actually. Charlie didn't know if anyone else picked up on it, but he was a dragon-trainer so the thought occurred to him. He was seeing Pansy and Draco in their real habitat. This was their natural environment, surrounded by the near blinding twinkle of diamond chandeliers and jeweled candelabra, enveloped in silk and satin, and besieged by armies of elves, all willing to whisk away even the slightest of irritants.

_This is what an insane amount of money does to children_, he thought. _Money and parents who were once children with insane amounts of money_.

"We can't pander to the populace," said Arthur. "We need a Minister capable of taking a stand."

"It won't be much of a stand if the country isn't behind him," said Draco, a note of derision in his voice. "The Minister is only as powerful as the citizens who support him. And that's another point as well, we need a Minister who has wealthy supporters."

"If the Minister has the approval of the people, he won't need to be wealthy," said Albus.

"If this does develop into war, the country won't be able to back all of the expenses," said Draco. "Wars bankrupt countries. If the country has to take loans, it should be from its citizens, not other countries."

"How many more conditions do you have?" Arthur demanded. "You've already discarded the entire country. He has to be a wealthy man. A strong man. A man who everyone likes. What's next? A man who can dance the Fire Waltz?"

"Well, it could be a woman," said Pansy, speaking up for the first time. She shrugged as the table looked her way. "I'm just saying. And I think you're all forgetting something rather important. The public isn't going to elect this Minister. The Wizengamot will decide because of the coup. Therefore, your job is actually quite simple. You need to cater to the Wizengamot. And, if you are concerned about support, simply get the Ministry elected by a vast majority. The country's approval will follow."

"The public's approval of the government is down," said Sirius. "How will a majority help?"

"Approval ratings are down because the Minister turned out to be a Death Eater, but who elected him into office? The public. Now, no one will admit to voting for Tierney, but they will blame everyone else, and so they mistrust their neighbors and countrymen. A strong support of a candidate by the Wizengamot will do a lot to ease fear and put trust back into the Minister."

Charlie could tell she had just impressed everyone at the table. Everyone except Draco, who looked as if he had wanted Pansy to point that out. The blond toasted her with his coffee mug and then took a sip.

"Pansy," he said, setting the coffee back down, "you've slept with a third of the Wizengamot, any insights you want to share?"

"Hardly a third," said Pansy. "Most of them all old, but if we include relatives, I've got insights on nearly a half."

Charlie didn't like her blasé shrug at Draco's words. She even had a semi-wicked smile on her face when she boasted of her ties to the court. It wasn't that he thought less of her, or was angry at her boast – not that he had a right to be angry, because she wasn't with him or anything, and not that he even wanted her to be with him, that is, she was a pretty girl, and there was an attraction on his part, but that really was it – but he hated how she must have gotten her start. Even in this modern age, sons were still more celebrated than daughters. Especially when the family only had one heir.

Pansy had no siblings. No doubt her parents had lamented her gender and took a small solace in their daughter's incredible beauty. For women in the Pureblood traditions, much of their power was in their appearance and sexual prowess.

Charlie suddenly glanced to his sister. She was getting serious with Draco. Would that lead to marriage? He couldn't see his sister becoming a trophy wife, but then again, maybe she was what the Pureblood women needed. A shock to the system. If she did end up marrying Draco – oh Merlin, he did not know how he felt about that – the Malfoy name would only bolster her standing. She could get away with a lot, and even held as a standard.

Disturbed by thoughts of his younger sister marrying, Charlie forced himself back to the breakfast conversation.

"Ellis is a key player," said Pansy. "He could get a fourth of the Wizengamot easily."

Charlie had no idea who Ellis was, nor did he really care to be completely honest. He sighed and sipped his tea, and then occupied himself by watching Pansy school the table in politics. Watching, not listening.

Her hands moved attractively as she spoke, twisting and gesturing, sometimes nearly fluttering. When she moved her head, her hair rippled out from the tie it was held in. Several different shades were visible, midnight black, espresso brown, and deep mahogany red. Her hair continued to sway long after her head stilled. It was hypnotizing to watch. Her lips –

Charlie jerked when a foot connected with his leg. He looked over to see Ron across from him, a 'what the hell are you doing?' expression on his face.

'_What_?' Charlie mouthed innocently.

'_You were staring_,' Ron mouthed back, then pantomimed Charlie gazing at Pansy with wide-eyes and a love-sick expression.

Charlie kicked him back, satisfied at the stifled yelp from his younger brother. It showed how intent the discussion was that no one looked over.

"For the last time," Draco was saying, his voice exasperated, "I will not support Hastings. He's completely inexperienced."

"Inexperienced?" Remus asked. "He's been a governor for two terms now."

"Yes, exactly my point. He's been governor of a miniscule, unimportant –,"

And Charlie tuned the lot of them out again. For a while, he watched Blaise's attempts to build a fruit tower on his plate. It would have worked better if he didn't use the pineapple wedges as a base. They were entirely too juicy to be stable enough to support the apple slices.

Tonks was watching too. She was sitting between Kingsley and Remus, and even though neither of the men spoke up very often, they were still involved enough to isolate her from the end of the table that wasn't paying attention. She looked like she wanted to help build the fruit tower. Charlie caught her eyes and sighed sympathetically. She sighed back and slouched lower in her seat.

"Then who the hell is left?" Charlie's dad demanded in frustration.

Charlie immediately sat up straighter and looked over. The attention that particular tone of voice demanded was an ingrained response.

"Well, we could just nominate you Draco. That'd resolve most of your objections, wouldn't it?" asked Sirius.

Was that what Draco had been aiming for? Charlie looked at the blond and nearly laughed at the look of revulsion on the Slytherin's face.

"First off," said Draco, "I do not meet the criteria I set out, or were you now paying attention?"

"I stopped listening after the thirtieth," said Sirius.

"Secondly, I do not want to be Minister. It'd be boring. I'd go insane."

Charlie didn't doubt that. Some people were just too smart to want to go into politics.

"And thirdly, I doubt you'd actually vote for me."

"I wouldn't vote for you," said Ginny, right beside Draco. "You're entirely too good-looking. I don't trust hot politicians."

There was an awkward silence after her statement because most of the table was composed of her family and like Charlie, none of them wanted to think about her considering anyone 'hot'.

"Is there anyone left to nominate?" Tonks asked in desperation. She obviously wanted the meeting to be over.

"I still think Hastings," said Dumbledore.

"If I got a vote, I'd vote for Denton," said Sirius.

"Kingsley," said Draco. "You took political science classes at the Academy. What about you?"

The large Auror looked up from his coffee in surprise. "Me?" he asked, taken off-guard at the attention. "Well, I was thinking about Patters, Mark Patters. He's relatively new, but I think he has a good head on his shoulders."

"Patters," mused Dumbledore. "I hadn't thought about him."

"No," said Draco to Kingsley. "I wasn't asking your opinion, I was asking about you."

"About me what?" asked Kingsley.

"If you wanted to be Minister," said Draco.

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Yeah, I know. Nothing much happened here. And it's kinda short. Still, the action will pick up next chapter…and that is 'pick up', not code for broom chases, an army of Boggarts, Draco confronting Dumbledore, a kidnapping, or a surprise visit from….well, those will all come later on in the story. And not too much later on. This story does need to end sometime. Also…I didn't proofread too much…sorry for bad grammer, speling.

Also, I'll try for a week update, but this one might take two...especially if I want it to be the usual legnth.


	31. Election Hazards

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. But I am watching it tonight at 12:06. We got tickets a little late, not cool enough for 12:01 I guess.

Author's note: Hi, for those who have read my profile, you know that I recently moved. To another state in fact, how fantastic! Well, I'm still in the middle of moving, so that's why the delay of chapter. In other news, my apartment is lovely! The price, not so much…ah well, such is the penalty for growing older.

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"Look out!" someone screamed. A second later, a curse was flung at the podium.

Draco had actually spotted the danger five seconds before the warning. That had given him enough time to do several things.

One: he reached for his wand.

Two: he remembered that he was in the Ministry and so had surrendered his wand at the front desk as per the security requirements.

Three: he tapped the shoulder of the Auror closest to him (while kicking himself for not bringing his unregistered wand) and alerted him to the danger.

Four: he kept track of the man steadily moving towards the podium and scanned the crowd, looking for any more people who might be in on the attack. He spotted two.

Five: he really, really wished he had just brought his unregistered wand with him, even if using it would destroy the image of the law-abiding citizen he was trying to project.

It wasn't a large gathering in the Ministry Atrium. Most of the wizards and witches present were reporters, broadcasting to a larger audience at home. Those who weren't reporters were Ministry officials or the campaign managers and sponsors of the candidates. Still, it was crowded right by the platform. Draco had been standing on the perimeter of the group, which was why he noticed the man.

The Aurors were moving into position when the man bumped into a secretary of some sort, and she noticed the man's hand tucked suspiciously into his jacket, the head ducked low and the grim set of the man's face. That was when she screamed and the attack started.

The curse that started the chaos was a very basic explosion spell. It toppled the podium and a few of the candidates and started a small fire. Draco could tell from the opening attack that the men involved in this onslaught were not Death Eaters, but probably sympathizers, hired with the promise of a mountain of gold. Draco doubted these men would ever see it. It would be better for Voldemort that they would be captured and proclaim his coming. Better to strike fear in the citizens of England.

It was a risky move for Voldemort. Kingsley was the candidate that offered the greatest sense of security, as he was an Auror. If the attacks continued, Kingsley would be voted in from sheer panic. Voldemort must be confidant that he could remove Kingsley from the picture.

Draco ducked as the attack became a small battle. The other two men had begun flinging spells as well and the Aurors were hindered by the crowded room of civilians. Most had the sense to drop to the floor, but the rest were panicking and trying to run.

The line of fireplaces in the Atrium flared green as the Aurors called for support. Red-robed figures ran out, some joining the fight, others trying to get the civilians to safety. The skirmish should have been over sooner than this, but Draco could tell that the attackers had been given some form of a strengthening potion. They shook off subduing spells and broke through magical bindings. It would take a direct and powerful spell to incapacitate them.

To the right, two Aurors opened the double doors leading to a service hallway and began hustling civilians out of harm's way. Draco was ushered over as well and he joined he rattled politicians and reporters in the hall. A few were injured, but no one appeared to be in any mortal danger. The Aurors shut the door from the outside when most of the audience had made it to relative safety.

Draco moved away from the doors, wanting to get away from the worst of the crowd. He leaned against the wall, on high alert, feeling incredibly vulnerable without his wand. He tried to keep tabs on the other temporary refugees but it was impossible to keep track of everyone in the hall. He wasn't aware of the woman moving towards him until her blonde hair glinted in the strong ceiling lights. He started, silently cursed, and then affected a casual air.

"Claire," he said, as if greeting an old acquaintance.

"Draco," she responded in like manner. Her smile, though, was smugly triumphantly.

Draco stepped away from the wall and towards Claire. So this had been Voldemort's plan. Not to take out Kingsley, but to remove his support. Draco should have seen this coming; it was basic strategy. Go for the unprotected support, not the carefully guarded king. The scheme hadn't occurred to him because he hadn't considered himself the unprotected support. He'd always been able to take care of any threat.

"Here to kill me?" he asked, spreading his arms from his sides to show he was unarmed.

"Unfortunately, yes," said Claire.

Draco faced her in the middle of the hall. He looked beyond her, to the crowd, but no one noticed, and why should they? Claire was dressed in a plain tweed suit. She blended. She hadn't a drawn a wand yet, though Draco knew she must have one. Right now, they could have been business associates. Even when she started casting, Draco doubted anyone would intervene on his behalf. They were too rattled, too frightened.

"I had hoped that this would be more sporting," Claire continued. "It seems so anticlimactic, to end this here and now. You, defenseless against me."

"You could always give me a wand," said Draco. "I'd hate to disappoint."

She smiled. "I'm sure the satisfaction of watching you breathe your last will be worth the small amount of disappointment for not besting you in a duel."

She reached into her jacket and casually pulled out her wand. Draco steeled himself. All he had to do was stall for time before someone alerted the Aurors, but with the already-frightened crowd, such clear thinking might take a while.

Claire flicked her wand. The speed of the spell belied her nonchalant casting. It flew at Draco, narrow, blue and deadly. The spell never hit. Draco threw up his right hand and the signet ring he wore on his first finger pulsed. The spell was forced aside, hitting the wall with a blast. The wall cracked and splintered. A few pieces were sent into the air. Someone at the front of the hall screamed.

Draco dove to the right. Claire had been surprised at his defense, but she recovered quickly, sending out another spell. She shouldn't have been surprised. Like he would really allow himself to be entirely defenseless.

This second spell of Claire's hit the ground and harmlessly fizzled out. The third brushed through his hair as he dropped to the floor. He redirected one more spell and jumped to his feet. She sent out two in quick succession. He twisted by one, but the other caught him on his shoulder. He was thrown back with the force. He hit the floor on his side and skidded a few feet on the polished marble.

He immediately rolled over onto his back, his eyes on Claire as his feet scrabbled to get himself upright again. His hand was pressed tight over his right shoulder, and the injury was hot to the touch and slick with blood. The pain was an afterthought, pushed to the side of his consciousness by adrenaline and the will to survive.

"Clever with the ring," said Claire, walking towards him, wand leveled at his chest. "But, in the end, futile."

She jerked her wand and Draco was flung into the wall. His cheek connected with wood paneling. He heard a crack, but wasn't sure if it was his skull or the boards. He crumpled to the floor.

The world was spinning and flashing. There was something else he needed to remember. He didn't expect to die here when he first faced Claire; he always had contingency plans, but everything was muddled, except the pain in his head which was a very tangible fire.

He felt hands on his chest, gripping his robe, pulling his head up. He forced his eyes to stay trained on the vague oval of apricot in front of him and slowly, very slowly, Claire's face came into focus. He stared into blue eyes.

"I might miss you," Claire offered, as if that was consolation.

Like his vision, he forced the fog away in his mind. Thinking used to be so easy. He blinked, tried to sit up, but groaned, and curled up around the pain in his shoulder. His hand dropped to his boot.

"Good-bye, Draco," Claire said, and raised her wand.

Draco lunged forward. He knew he would only get this one chance, and he knew his attack would be clumsy at best, so he put his whole weight behind it. He knocked into her, sending her backwards, and plunged the knife into her side.

He landed half on top of her and felt, rather than heard, her gasp. Draco pushed himself up and away, just in case she had her own knife on her person. Claire was hissing in air and trying to sit up. Her wand rolled from her fingers and Draco tried to reach it. He only managed to knock it towards the opposite wall.

Draco pushed himself to his feet and stumbled over to retrieve the wand. His head didn't agree with the motion so he slumped against the wall and slid back down to the floor.

Claire pulled the knife out of her side and gripped it in a bloody hand. She forced herself to her knees, murder in her eyes. Draco managed to grab Claire's wand and raise his arm to point the wand at her.

As it turned out, it wasn't necessary. Claire's face was rapidly paling and she looked down at her side. Scarlet blood was pumping out in spurts. An arterial bleed.

"You shouldn't have pulled the knife out," said Draco. "It was blocking the blood."

Claire opened her mouth, her voice fading but still indignant, accusing. "You…you bloody stabbed me!"

"I can't believe you fell for that," Draco said. His own voice was slightly breathy. "A knife in the boot? It's the oldest trick in the book."

She snarled at him, like a cat tossed into a bath, but then there were people stepping closer, and loud voices, and bright, blinding red robes. It was almost a pity the Aurors response time was so good. Claire would have died if they came just ten seconds later.

Three hours later, and Draco was sitting in St. Mungo's waiting room. The Healer wouldn't let him leave without supervision so he had sent for Bill. He hadn't sent for anyone until then, or even informed them that he'd been attacked, so it was understandable that Bill was a little anxious when he arrived. Understandable, but still a little annoying.

"Merlin, Draco, what happened?" were the first words out of Bill's mouth.

"I did tell you in the owl," said Draco. He pushed himself to his feet, feeling the ache that the Healer promised him would take a day or more to fade.

Bill offered a hand, but Draco waved him back. The dizziness had been cured by the bruise-be-gone used on the side of his face. The ointment, however, hadn't been able to erase all of the bruises. He had a lovely blue and green array over his entire left temple and cheek.

"Claire?" Bill asked.

"She'll live. Unfortunately," said Draco blandly.

"But she'll be sent to Azkaban."

"And Voldemort will get her out."

His head throbbed and Draco reached up to rub his temple, forgetting about the bruise. His fingers hit the still-tender skin and he hissed in a quick breath.

"You sure you're okay?" asked Bill.

"Yeah."

"Are you sure you should be leaving?"

"They'd just have me in bed here. I can do that at home."

Draco stepped over to the receptionist's desk. "Can you tell Healer Lawrence that my friend arrived?"

"Of course," she responded.

Draco turned back to Bill who was frowning.

"I should have gone with you," he said.

"Yeah, you definitely should have been there. You missed out on a great time," said Draco, rolling his eyes. That actually disoriented him a little bit so he locked his knees and waited for the moment to pass.

"You know what I mean," said Bill. "You didn't have anyone to look out for you."

"Bill," said Draco. "You wouldn't have had your wand either. I'm actually very happy that no one was there with me. Another person would have meant more for Claire to work with and more distractions for me. I barely got myself out alive."

"That other person could have helped," said Bill. "You don't have to do all the rescuing you know."

"And when Claire has her wand leveled at you and orders me to hold still so she can Avada me or she'll Avada you? How are you helping then?"

"I can look out for myself," said Bill. "I've been doing it for a while now."

Draco sighed. He knew that, he would just –

"I would feel responsible," said Draco.

"Which is exactly how I feel," said Bill.

Draco opened his mouth, saw the point Bill was making, and realized that he couldn't think of any retort.

"My head hurts," he said, nullifying any victory Bill wanted to take from the discussion. He sounded a bit more petulant than he would have liked.

"As well it should," said Healer Lawrence stepping into the waiting room. She looked to Bill. "Are you here to pick Mr. Malfoy up?"

"Yes."

"Here's a list of instructions for looking after someone with a head injury. He should be nearly fully recovered by tomorrow, but if there is any disorientation, memory lapses, slurred speech, or if unconsciousness should occur, you should bring him right back here. Sometimes our instruments don't register all of the damage, or the potions can act as a temporary, but not permanent, cure."

"Understood," said Bill.

"He shouldn't have any rich foods for the next twelve hours and if any –,"

"For Merlin's sake," Draco cut in, "I memorized that entire list while getting checked over."

Lawrence looked to him and then turned back to Bill.

"His cognitive functioning doesn't seem to be impaired," she allowed, "but the only reason we're letting him go is because he's rather adamant about leaving. The wound to his shoulder has been magically sealed. We were going to give him a sling, to make sure he doesn't tear the wound, but he was adamant about not needing that as well. You should make sure that he doesn't raise his arm any higher than his shoulder and he should lift anything today. I am going to give you an ointment that should be applied every four to six hours to keep out infection. If the wound becomes red or swollen, you should bring him back in for a further check-up. Any questions?"

"No," said Draco, "because I memorized that list as well."

Bill took the papers from Lawrence anyway. "Thank you," he said.

They shook hands and Draco sighed, loudly, his fingers tapping against his side. He'd already spent three hours in the hospital. All additional minutes were grating.

The Healer finally left and Draco turned to Bill in relief. The red-haired man was looking absurdly amused and Draco frowned.

"What?" he asked shortly.

"You," said Bill, "are such a teenager right now."

Draco blinked. "I'm a what?" he demanded, then hurried to follow Bill as the former professor headed for the elevators. "I'm a 'teenager'? I actually take offense to that."

"But you can't deny it, can you?" Bill challenged.

Draco opened his mouth and realized once more that he had no answer.

"My head hurts," he decided on.

They Flooed out from the front entrance back to the Malfoy Estate. Even in his own home, Draco couldn't escape the suffocating attention that came after fighting for his life against a Death Eater. Mrs. Weasley wasn't satisfied until she examined his pupils and had him track her finger across his field of vision (because obviously the Healers did not have more advanced medical equipment). Fred and George hounded him to hear the entire gory story (and once wasn't enough). Sirius tried to give him the secret Black recipe to cure any kind of headaches, including hangovers (a quarter way down the ingredients list he got nauseas, and he didn't think much of it had to do with his concussion). Ron offered a game of Wizard's chess, wondering how quickly he could defeat an impaired genius (Draco figured it would be a matter of twenty-five moves).

When Bill told him he should lie down for a while, Draco readily agreed. Ginny followed him up to his room and they both lay on the huge bed, staring up at the ceiling. The conversation that transpired was a little inane, as Draco found it a little harder to keep his thoughts in line, but Ginny seemed more than willing to follow his somewhat crazed stream of consciousness.

Draco went to bed early, was woken up through the night just to make sure his brain was still functioning properly, and when he finally got out of bed, at nine, he felt completely rested and ready to start out on the campaign trail again.

"No," said Bill at breakfast.

"It's just a day trip," said Draco. "To Bath. By Floo, it's roughly a two second journey."

"I wouldn't care if it was right next door," said Bill. "We're still watching you for brain damage."

"I think I would have noticed any brain damage by now," said Draco. "Besides, my face took the brunt of the impact and I wouldn't call that vital to my survival."

"It's vital to our relationship," said Ginny next to him. "Stay cute for me."

Across the table, Ron gagged.

"I'm the financial backbone for Kingsley. I should be there to show support!" Draco protested.

Bill got up, crossed to the side table, and picked up the newspapers that had been delivered that morning. He plopped them down, one by one, right in front of Draco, reading off the headlines.

"Draco Malfoy Attacked by Death Eaters at Nominations" That was the Daily Prophet, complete with a picture of him slumped against the wall.

"Death Eater Attack at Ministry; Malfoy Targeted" That was the Morning Muse, showing him and Claire battling in the hall. It was a rather nice action shot.

"You-Know-Who Wants Draco Malfoy Dead" And the Wizard Times reported it as well, with a picture of Draco getting hit by Claire's curse.

"Love Turns Deadly in the Ministry" And that was the Quibbler with a picture of Claire kneeling in the hall, the bloody knife in her hands and Draco pointing the wand at her. As always, a fine, upstanding example of wizarding journalism. Although, in an odd sort of way, the headline was not so far off. Claire would do anything for Voldemort's affection.

"I think," said Bill, "that all of England would understand you taking a day off. Let some of us help with this campaign, alright?"

Draco sighed. "A whole day?" he asked.

"A whole day," said Bill.

The whole day actually went by rather quickly. It helped that there were so many people around. He played Wizard's chess with Ron, five games, Ron won three. Draco was somewhat distracted by Fred and George rough housing by the display of antique vases. Ron was much more used to his brother's antics and didn't care about pottery. Draco also wrote up a list of spells for the Golden Trio's dueling lessons. He read a book on successful political campaigns during the Vampire Wars of 1613. He gave Ginny and Hermione his Gringotts charm so they could pick up evening gowns for the banquet he was holding the night of elections.

Harry looked at him like he was daft for simply giving them access to his back accounts, but Draco knew that most stores were only too happy to see their designs on public figures at public events. They would either get the dresses or all the accessories free. Besides, Narcissa bought hordes of clothes and jewels every week. With her extravagance written out of the budget, Draco would have to look for a new charity to sponsor to eat up the extra cash.

Draco was back on the campaign the next day, though all that consisted of was attending a political luncheon at Huntsford Lodge. He made his rounds with the Council Members and conversation flowed easily, probably because he still had the faintest of bruises on his temple.

It did not escape his notice that the usual contingent of Aurors was doubled in number, and that several were in formal attire to blend in with the guests. It also did not escape his notice that wherever he went, the Aurors were sure to pass by much more frequently.

"The muscle is unnecessary," he told Kingsley at the drink table.

The large man shrugged. "They're friends of mine," he said.

"And what? You called in a favor?"

"Just dropped a hint."

"Right," said Draco. "Care to call them off?"

"We've still got an hour," the Auror said easily.

A waiter held out a glass of wine for Draco. He took it.

"The whole running for Minister is obviously going to your head," Draco sniped. He left to find Council Member Wick.

Geoffrey Wick was a startling untalented conversationalist, and disregarded even the most obvious of openings of "So, someone tried to kill you the other day." Draco had to pry every sentence from the man, but he persisted because Wick was a brilliant politician and in favor with the northern delegates.

He was hoping to speak with Judge Ashley after, but then Percy Weasley, Acting Minister, approached.

"Mr. Malfoy," said Percy. "A word?"

"Of course," said Draco. He followed the Assistant to a quiet stretch of wall. Percy was flanked by two Aurors in black dress robes. Obviously England was taking the safety of her Ministers, even the Acting ones, quite seriously. Percy managed to send them back a few steps with a look, but they refused to retreat any further.

"Something wrong?" asked Draco.

"It depends on you," said Percy. "Shacklebolt. He's a member of the Order. The Civis Arma isn't comfortable with having the Minister be a part of a vigilante group, even one as sound as the Order."

"Because it gives one man too much power," said Draco.

"Precisely," said Percy. "For all we know, he could be using the Order to plot assassinations. You can understand our concern." Percy gestured to his own temple. Draco gave a rueful smile.

"I do understand," he said. "Dumbledore does as well. Should he become Minister-,"

"You mean _when_," said Percy.

"When he becomes Minister," Draco corrected with a smirk, "Kingsley will withdraw from the Order."

"Completely?" asked Percy.

"He will pass on information if it is vital to the destruction of Voldemort, no more, no less."

"And who decides if this is vital information?" asked Percy.

"He will," said Draco. "And I'm sure you'll have a say in it too. There's not much he can hide from you."

Percy shrugged in non-contest. "Thank you," he said.

"We are on the same side," Draco reminded him.

"True," said Percy.

"Is that all?"

"Not entirely. This is just from me. You remember when I mentioned freezing your assets should you sponsor the wrong candidate?"

"Yes. You have an objection?"

"Just one." Percy glanced behind him and lowered his voice. "He's an Auror, for Merlin's sake. It was bad enough cleaning up Tierney's mess, now you're giving me an untrained Minister. I'm going to have to teach him how to run the country as well as clean up his mistakes. I was hoping to get a break, not put in more overtime."

Draco smirked at the frazzled tone. "Yes, he might need a little polish, but give him a few weeks, and I guarantee that he'll get the hang of it. He took politics in the Academy, so he'll have the general idea."

"The general idea," Percy reiterated. "I have a general idea to seize half of your estate."

"Yeah, good luck with that. I transferred most of my funds out of the country, just in case you felt like retaliating." Draco gave Percy a smug smile.

Percy shook his head. "Unbelievable, Malfoy."

"You warned me," said Draco. He nodded to Percy in farewell and moved back to the main party. His arm was snagged by Council Member Haverton and he reluctantly stopped.

"So, Malfoy," Haverton said, "quite the exciting day at the nominations, I hear."

Draco gave a wan smile. "It could be termed exciting."

"Nothing like free publicity though, am I right?" asked Haverton. "Such a perfect timing for your campaign, too."

"Oh, it was," said Draco. "In fact, it was so successful, the next time I sponsor a candidate, I'm going to find another genocidal madman to try to kill me."

Haverton laughed. "We should all find ourselves such riveting dramas, eh?"

Draco stared at the man.

"And befriending Harry Potter too, now that is true genius," Haverton continued. "And the 'feud' with your father. Of course, bad move on his part for getting caught on the wrong team, but you recovered nicely."

"Yes, but just wait for the finale," said Draco.

"The finale?" asked Haverton.

"Oh yes. Explosions, hippogriffs, spies and traitors, all fantastic stuff. You should be there."

"I hope to be," said Haverton. "When will it be held?"

"Now Council Member," said Draco reprovingly, "that would be telling."

Haverton laughed delightedly. Draco restrained himself from pulling out his wand. Instead he raised his wine, intending to drain the entire glass because this conversation had really just taken place, but then he stopped and peered into the cup. There were no reflections on the surface of the dark liquid, not even from the lights. He sniffed the wine and noticed the slightest hints of sandalwood.

"Excuse me, Council Member," he said. "My wine has been poisoned."

"Has it indeed?" asked Haverton. He gave Draco an obvious wink. "What a terrible thing to happen!"

Draco glanced at Haverton's half-empty glass. "Yours is too."

He turned on his heel, leaving Haverton spluttering behind him. Draco handed his glass to the Auror four feet behind him.

"Check this for Ryson's," he ordered.

Draco didn't stay after that. He informed Kingsley that he was leaving, and to stop drinking the wine, and headed home. Sometimes parties were just more trouble than they were worth.

oOoOoOoOoOo~oOoOoOoOoOo~oOoOoOoOoOo

It was election night. All across England, parties were being held for the candidates. There would be fine dining, dancing, speeches and toasts, and Percy had been invited to all of them. As a mere formality of course, because it wasn't like he could actually go to them. He had votes to help collect and count and an Executive Council to meet with to confirm the winner, and then he would inform the lucky candidate. Technically he could go, just for a dinner, but then he would be showing favoritism.

Instead Percy put a late night in the office, getting everything ready for the new Minister (which would be Kingsley Shacklebolt). He then dismissed his Auror bodyguards, telling them he was going to have dinner sent up and wait for the Wizengamot to arrive. They waited to check his meal (because of the wine-poisoning scare at the luncheon three days ago) and then left to take up positions by the elevators, just in case Percy changed his mind about going home.

Percy didn't, but after he finished his meal, he Portkeyed to his office, and from there made his way to the Civis Arma meeting.

"Sorry I'm late," he said. The rest of the Arma was already seated at the round table.

"It's not a problem," said Kelly. "We only have a few things on the agenda for today. Percy, did you manage to speak with Draco Malfoy?"

"I did," said Percy. "He assures me that when Kingsley Shacklebolt is elected, he will withdraw from the Order."

"He can't _know_ that Shacklebolt will get election," Rudy objected.

"Draco Malfoy overthrew Tierney doing the opening questions of a court case. If he can get rid of a Minister in a matter of minutes, I'm sure he can get one elected by the end of a week. Not to mention, with Harry Potter's public support, the man could be an absolute idiot, and still become Minister."

And for all Percy knew, Kingsley could be an idiot. He sincerely hoped not.

"He assured us," said Kelly, "but that doesn't mean he will withdraw."

"Apparently, if a crucial bit of information arises, Shacklebolt will relay it to the Order, and visa versa, but that is to be the extent of their contact. I do have access to most of the Minister's communications, so if anything untoward were to take place, I will make you all aware of it, and we can discuss what actions should be taken."

"What's being designated as crucial?" asked Jonathan Felix.

"I actually have an example with me," said Percy.

He pulled a file out of his attaché. "I discovered this when cleaning out Tierney's things. Apparently, our dearly deposed Minister was doing a little bit of snooping. These are Auror files on one Vincent Bickle. He was a thief twenty to thirty years ago and a total loot of six million galleons is attributed to him. He was arrested a few times, but always managed to escape. He fell off the grid over fifteen years ago and it is suspected that he fled to Germany. Does his name ring a bell with anyone?"

No one answered.

"You think he's important?" Rudy finally asked.

"Not to us," said Percy, "but we're not trying to take down Voldemort. We're just here to keep this country functioning. I was planning on showing this to Shacklebolt tomorrow. If it's important, then he can pass it on."

"And you said Tierney had dug this information up," said Kelly. "You think it was for Voldemort."

"I believe so."

"Do you think Tierney told Voldemort?"

"He got the file the day before the trial. He might have, but there's no way of knowing for sure."

"Tell Shacklebolt," said Kelly. "We can't keep this country running with Voldemort around."

The rest of the table agreed.

"There is something I won't be telling Shacklebolt. Something that three other people beside myself know, well, Voldemort probably knows as well." Percy took a breath. "The body of Lucius Malfoy is missing."

Silence.

"Wait," said Rudy. "Missing as in some guards vented post-death frustrations by tossing the corpse into the ocean, or missing as in Malfoy is an evil genius and managed to fool everyone and fake his death and then got up and walked out of the morgue and is now laughing at us all?"

"The Warden believes that some of his guards are responsible for stealing the body and, as you said, vented post-death frustrations. However, there is no way to know for sure."

"Of course there is," said Kelly. "We need to put those guards under Veritaserum."

"All of them?" asked Percy. "Right now four people know, maybe six if we count to guilty parties. We don't want this to leak. Even if the body was stolen, you know stories will be made, about sightings of Malfoy and general panic will ensue, not to mention the entire security of Azkaban will be compromised. It will be a mess and we don't have time to clean it up."

"If Malfoy escaped, then the security at Azkaban should be called into question. This isn't some petty thief-,"

"Because there are so many of those at Azkaban," Rudy interjected.

Kelly shot him a glare and continued. "This is Lucius Malfoy, right hand man of Voldermort. He assassinated Minister Fudge. This is why we were called! To uphold the law when it gets tossed aside by evil men and when it gets discarded by good men in times of war!"

"I'm not saying that Malfoy doesn't deserve to be hunted down and sent back to Azkaban," said Percy. "And even saying that is preposterous because _Malfoy is dead_, all checks confirmed that, there is no way around it-- I'm simply saying that in the end, Malfoy gave all his money to his son, who we know is on our side. Malfoy knew Voldemort set him up. Why would he join the man who betrayed him? And again, this is ridiculous because _Lucius Malfoy is dead_. Unless resurrection is now possible-,"

"Well, there was that one time," said Rudy.

Percy shot him a glare. "Unconfirmed and irrelevant. Unless resurrection is now possible, Lucius Malfoy is one hundred percent, absolutely, certifiably dead. Any questions?"

For once even Rudy kept quiet. Percy let out a sigh and slumped in his chair. His head was throbbing.

"I didn't mean to yell," he said quietly.

"You didn't," said Rudy. "You were just…very forceful. I may only be speaking for myself, but I found it rather startling. I didn't know you had it in you."

Oh, he had it in him alright. It wasn't like hair this fiery came without the temper.

"Anyway, back to my original point," he said. "This is something I will not be sharing with Kingsley Shacklebolt. He would only tell Draco, and I don't think that's something he needs on his plate."

"But he's requesting the body," said Kelly. "That's one of the reparations he's demanding."

"So we'll put a fake in. I doubt he's going to look very hard."

"But what if it turns out the body wasn't stolen?" asked Helena quietly.

"Then it'll be a surprise," said Percy. "That's all I have to cover. Anyone else?"

And the meeting continued. It wasn't a surprise when, at 12:01 that night (or the next morning), Percy opened the door to congratulate the new Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

oOoOoOoOoOo~oOoOoOoOoOo~oOoOoOoOoOo

Quick confession. Another reason it was late (besides the moving to a new state thing), the chapter was really boring, so I made it better with a few attempts on Draco's life. It really only makes sense after all. It's not like Voldemort is going to sit back while Draco takes the election.


	32. The Hunt Begins Again

Disclaimer: Not mine, but they're on my Christmas list.

Author's Note: Three hours late…oops. Also, very little time for editing because I started grad school. My bad.

ooooooooooo—ooooooooooooo--ooooooooooooo

Draco saw the last guest out and waited for the magic-propelled carriage to roll down the drive. It was late. The long, cobblestone drive leading to the estate was lit with floating paper lanterns, each as brilliant and golden as the stars in the dark sky above. Draco turned back into the ballroom, decked out in red and gold, in honor of Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, candidate for Minister. When the news of his election had come, a little after midnight, ruby red confetti had fallen from seemingly nowhere, glittering thick in the room and disappearing as soon as it hit the floor. Never let it be said that the Malfoy family did not know how to throw a party.

Now the ballroom was in the disarray common to political parties. Empty wine glasses and tiny entrée plates littered the linen-covered tables and every other horizontal surface. A few personal belongings, four coats, three purses, two scarves, a pair of shoes, a wallet and a pocket watch, had been left behind. Draco would see to it they were returned to their proper owners. Several streamers had been pulled down, or had fallen, and were now trailing on the floor. A banner was crumpled in one corner, the drink and appetizer tables were stained liberally. Even the charmed tablecloths couldn't keep red wine and chocolate smears invisible.

Draco scanned the room, noting who was still present and awake. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were sitting on a low bench on the side of the room, deep in conversation. Fred and George were attempting to slide down the long, curving banister by the stairs without their father noticing. Sirius was acting as a look-out for the twins. The Golden Trio, along with Ginny, was sitting around the dessert table. Ron was picking at a platter of éclairs while Ginny and Hermione chatted. Harry looked like he was nearly asleep.

It was late, going on two in the morning. Draco was used to late nights, but even he was exhausted. This campaign had taken a lot out of him, not because he had done so much, but because he had been forced to delegate the majority of the work after the incident with Claire. Delegating was something Draco was very good at – when he had hand selected the individuals he would be directing. Being forced to assign tasks to the members of the Order who had no real professional training in politics played havoc with his somewhat obsessive personality. Not only did he have to explain the task to the Order members, he couldn't stop himself from double-checking their work.

Now, though, it was over and finished and Draco was glad. Politics was something he mostly enjoyed in abstract. While there was a real satisfaction in dethrowning or crowning a leader, the accomplishment was accompanied by stress, frustration, and hours of agonizing boredom. It was not enough to tempt Draco into a career in the government.

Draco quietly passed through the ballroom, snagging two still-full glasses of champagne from the drink table, and then slipped through the open French doors and onto the terrace. He stared out over the lantern-lit side garden and tossed back the first glass. He had refrained from alcohol at the banquet, drinking sparkling grape juice instead – a trick he'd learned from Lucius in order to stay completely alert and competent, but now he needed to unwind.

"Hiding?" asked a light voice from behind him.

Draco didn't turn, but his lips quirked up. "Not from you."

He sipped at his second glass. He heard the soft click of high-heeled shoes as Ginny came to stand beside him. He glanced over, appreciating the way the moonlight and soft glow of the lanterns lit her skin. The beaded straps of her silk dress were draped artfully over her arms, baring her shoulders. Her skin seemed to shimmer in the light.

Her head turned and she caught his gaze. He knew she flushed, but it was indistinguishable in the dim light. The moonlight painted everything in shades of blue, except her hair. The night could only temper the brilliance.

"You look tired," she said.

Soft strands of music filtered out from the ballroom, as gentle as her words.

"You look divine," he returned.

"I'm tired too," she responded, forcing back a yawn.

Draco finished off the champagne and set the two glasses on the marble rail bordering the terrace.

"I feel like we weren't even at the same party," she said, a laugh in her voice which meant she understood. They hadn't even been able to dance together. "Were you able to enjoy yourself at all?"

He'd never hosted his own gala before; he had never been in charge of everything from the guest list to the entertainment. Perhaps he should have started on a smaller scale, but Malfoy's never did anything by halves.

"I'd have more fun at your party," Draco said.

The music from the ballroom changed. He took her hand and guided her to the middle of the veranda. She rested her other arm on his shoulder, he pressed his hand to her waist, and pulled her into a sweeping waltz.

They danced well together. She moved naturally with him, not afraid to let him lead her into a complicated series of steps and turns, ones that he perfected after years of instruction but that she wouldn't have known. The waltz was a stirring one. He moved them throughout the expanse of the terrace, expertly avoiding the selection of chairs and tables. She laughed when he spun her out, and eagerly reached for his hand when he guided her close again. The closing strains of the waltz found them once more in the center of the patio, their steps slowing with the final ritardando, a traditional revolution back to the beginning.

Ginny smiled up at him, her hand rising to brush through his hair.

"Why do you have to be so perfect?" she whispered.

He wasn't perfect. He knew how flawed he was, and she, of all people, knew that he had his struggles. The question then was what brought on the sentiment. He tried to peer into her eyes, but she glanced away. Her body tensed, leaning away from him. He didn't understand.

"Ginny," he said.

Perhaps if he wasn't so exhausted he'd be able to understand. Perhaps if they weren't in heavy shadow he could read her features. Perhaps if he weren't so incredibly thick when it came to emotions and relationships…

"Ginny," he said again, because she had to understand that he was at sea right now, and it frustrated him to no end, but regret never changed a damn thing.

"It's nothing," she said, looking back up at him and smiling. And it was a real smile, not a fake one, and all previous tension was gone. She had put aside the melancholy, an expert at bringing out only the appropriate emotions and he hated to think of why she had to develop that skill. Her parents believed that all memory of her encounter with Tom Riddle was gone. That she never remembered a thing. Even Dumbledore thought that.

He frowned at her, but then she stepped closer.

"It's alright," she said. "I'll tell you later. Not now. This night is too lovely to spoil."

Her arm reached up, twining around his neck and guiding his head down. He offered no resistance, just his lips. She kissed him, sweetly and gently, and he responded in kind. It wasn't really his style at all, but he was tired and this way he could take in every detail, from the caress of her tongue to the way her hair felt through his fingers.

His right hand dropped to her waist and slid over thin silk. He could feel the heat of her skin through the dress and he pulled her closer. He tugged her slightly off balance, but her lips never left his. She simply tightened her grip on his shoulders until she steadied.

She shouldn't know how to kiss like that, like she was stealing every sense from him. He couldn't hear the music anymore; he couldn't see the lights or the red of her hair because his eyes had fallen shut. There was only her, her heat, her touch, the smell of her perfume, and he knew the scents, he knew what ingredients had gone into that bottle, but Merlin, he couldn't name them for the life of him. She inhaled a quick breath, stealing his air as well. She was the only thing anchoring to this time and place, and suddenly he realized, although she was taking everything with that kiss, she was giving all of her in return

He might have gasped into the kiss, or whispered an oath. His right hand settled on her bare shoulder and her skin was soft and hot, nearly burning to his cold touch. It threatened to wash over him. His fingers drifted down and then flinched as he brushed the cool glass of the beaded strap. It taunted him, that strap. Already fallen like a lover had slipped it over her shoulders. One little nudge, it seemed to promise, just one more little slip and her dress was the next thing to fall. Merlin damn that dress.

He broke the kiss, stepping back and pulling in a deep breath of gardenia-scented air. He glared; Ginny frowned with kiss-reddened lips.

"I'm not buying you anymore dresses," he told her.

Her frowned smoothed with a laugh. She spun, the skirt flaring out, just high enough to tease.

"You don't like it?" she asked.

When she moved, the thin silk alternated between flowing out with the motion of her hips, and outlining her entire leg. Now that she was here, standing in front of him, the taste of her lips still on his tongue, Draco wondered how he had ignored her this entire night.

"I need a drink," said Draco.

"You need to go to bed," Ginny countered. She yawned, almost violently. "So do I."

"My room's closer," Draco offered because he knew she would say no.

Ginny laughed. "I guess I'll walk you there."

She held out her hand and he took it. He guided her down the terrace steps because it was quicker to walk outside. She rested her head on his shoulder as they walked and swung their entwined hands.

She left him by his bedroom door, kissing his cheek and then continuing down the hall. He watched her go because she deserved the attention, especially in that dress. He was definitely not buying her anymore of those dresses, at least not for public events.

He stepped inside his room and ran a hand through his hair. He had been tired, before Ginny joined him on the terrace, but now his mind was fully awake. Kissing Ginny was never the best way to get ready to sleep.

Instead he took a shower, to shock his body into wakefulness, and spent an hour writing thank you cards to those who assisted the campaign. The mundane activity helped his mind shut down and after he signed off the last one, he crawled into his bed and closed his eyes. Sleep came easily.

_He was walking through the Labyrinth in the back garden of Malfoy Estate. He'd known the way out since he was six and so he felt no fear hedged in by tall, green branches. Still, his steps were quickening. He almost didn't know why, he didn't know if he was running towards or from something. _

_He broke into a sprint, not realizing he was bare foot until his feet started slapping the hard clay tiles. He looked down. He was wearing the gray trousers and collared, short-sleeved shirt of his childhood, his 'playtime' clothes, the closest thing to casual Narcissa allowed. He often took his shoes and socks off in defiance of her edict. She never knew because she never saw him to see if her demands were followed. _

_He didn't stop or slow. He could see the exit to the maze. He burst through the hedges, but no, he wasn't out, he was still in the labyrinth, in the center, the very middle. The gold fountain was there, water bubbling and trickling down the many basins. He stepped closer. The flow of the water increased. The bubbling stream turned to rapids. The water spilled over the sides of the basin in clear sheets like glass. He stepped forward. He could see his own reflection, his face and another behind him. A hand fell on his shoulder. He spun around. _

_He saw Lucius._

"_Draco."_

"Draco."

Draco opened his eyes and sat up. It took him a second to get his bearings, just a second and then he looked over and saw Bill standing in the door of his room.

"Sorry to wake you," said Bill.

"It's fine," said Draco automatically. "What time is it?"

He looked to the clock even as Bill said, "Nine-thirty."

Nine-thirty. He'd slept in.

"What's happened?" he asked.

His sleep clothes felt sweaty. His face and neck did too. He hoped his hair didn't show it.

"Kingsley sent us an owl. You're going to want to see this."

From his tone, it was good news. Draco nodded.

"I'll be down in ten."

Bill nodded as well, but then tilted his head to the side. "You alright?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Draco, then because he was making an effort to be more open, "I had a dream."

"Bad dream?" asked Bill.

"No. Just…weird." He pushed his covers back. "I'm going to take a shower."

Bill took the dismissal well. "See you at breakfast," he said.

Perhaps there were benefits to this 'openness' thing.

Draco was at the dining room in thirteen minutes; the dream had been harder to shake than he would have liked. From the chatter over the table, and the presence of Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, Tonks, and Lupin, whatever Kingsley had sent was important.

"Kingsley sent us an owl," said Dumbledore as Draco sat down.

"So Bill said. His exact words too."

Dumbledore handed him a fine sheet of parchment embossed with the Minister's seal. Draco poured a cup of coffee as he read the short missive.

_Hello to you all. My assistant brought this to my attention. Apparently Tierney was digging up information on our thief, most likely for Voldemort. Looks like he did our work for us._

Draco put the letter down. "What was it he sent?"

Dumbledore slid over a thick, Auror file. Draco opened the folder and read the name at the top. He glanced through the list of reported and suspected crimes. He took a sip of his coffee.

"Well?" Sirius prodded.

Draco nodded. "It could be him."

"Could be, or is him?"

"The timeline fits. His skill level seems adequate to have broken the Jordayne safe. I'd say he's our best fit. We won't know one hundred percent until we find the goblet." He looked over to Dumbledore. "Is there a chance Tierney already gave this information to Voldemort?"

"There is."

Draco flipped through the other pages. "It doesn't give us an exact location, but there are reports that he was seen in Germany. And, according to this…," he trailed off and looked over at Dumbledore. "Black Water."

Dumbledore nodded.

"Where?" asked Harry.

Draco snapped his fingers and Tolly appeared.

"Yes, master?" the house elf asked, bowing low.

"Get us wizarding maps of Black Water and the surrounding area."

Tolly disappeared with a light pop. Draco took another sip of his coffee and picked out a pumpernickel roll from the platter in front of him. Tolly appeared with the maps and the Order quickly cleared the breakfast platters form the middle of the table. Dumbledore helped him unfurl the sheets.

"Here," said Draco, pointing to an area on the edge of the German border.

"It's an old town," said Dumbledore. "It has been inhabited since before the times of Merlin."

"Wait," said Mr. Weasley. "I remember reading about it in the paper."

Draco smirked as the older members of the Order began to recognize the name.

"It was a mining town," he explained to those his age. "Twenty-five years ago, the mines hit a large strain of silver, and the commerce flourished. The mines expanded, people moved in, and Black Water was renamed Gainesville after the owner of the mine. The town grew but was forced to expand east because of the mines, closer to the Soporis Silva, the Sleeping Woods. When our thief Vincent Bickle left for the town, it was still flourishing."

"Don't tell me the monsters got them," said Sirius, rolling his eyes. He would have been in Azkaban when the story broke.

"The monsters did get them," said Draco. "There was an epidemic of lycanthrope started by three werewolves hunting in a pack. The only time that happens is when a family is turned together because otherwise, werewolves are solitary creatures. It's a rare occurrence. Gainesville was still a relatively new success and largely secluded. The trains hadn't reached the town yet.

"There are three nights when a sufferer from Lycanthrope will shift into wolf form. In those three nights, four hundred people were massacred and nearly two hundred had been turned. The population to begin with was a little over eleven hundred. By the time the Suppression Squad heard of the attack and arrived, the town had been halved. The three original werewolves were hunted down and killed. What remains of their bodies still hang in cages over the courthouse and the town was renamed Black Water."

"And we have to go there?" Ron asked, his voice three and a half-notes higher than usual.

"It's a ghost town now," said Draco.

"Deserted?" asked Harry.

Draco looked over. "A ghost town where half or more of the population is incorporeal. Ghosts, poltergeists, ghouls, shadow people, and most from the massacre. The living who still inhabit Black Water are mostly researchers and those hiding from the law. If Bickle didn't die, he's still there." Draco shrugged. "Even if he did die, he might still be there."

"Or someone might be able to tell us where he went," said Dumbledore.

"So what's the plan?" asked Sirius.

"We won't all travel to Black Water, for several reasons," said Dumbledore. "The first being that we need to keep a low profile. If Tierney was able to give this information to Voldemort, the Death Eaters might already be there. If Voldemort does not know, he may be watching us in hopes we lead him to the horcrux."

"If Voldemort does beat us to the goblet, will he immediately bond it to himself to increase his power?" asked Remus. "The ritual is demanding, so we might have a chance at retrieving it even if Voldemort gets there first."

"We don't know if he will incite the bond now," Draco responded. "He could want to find it and keep it as a safety measure, that was the reason he created them in the first place."

"Draco is correct," said Dumbledore. "When the resistance became too much of a threat, he resorted to horcruxes to stay alive. He has already bonded with two of his horcruxes and the results are impressive to say the least. He might decide the best course of action is to hide the horcrux again."

"What type of results?" Bill asked.

Dumbledore turned to Severus.

"He has been cautious," Snape reported. "Even with his followers, he has not shown the true extent of his power. Still, I have overseen him display rudimentary control over the elements, he has the ability of flight, and his Legilimancy is…threatening."

"How much would this last horcrux increase his power?" Tonks asked.

"Impossible to say," said Dumbledore. "The horcruxes are a part of human soul. When created, they grow, feeding off of the surrounding magical energy, usually dark magic. In a place like Black Water, the horcrux could be tremendously powerful. We must hope the Jordayne safe has tempered its growth."

"Who's going?" asked Ginny.

Harry immediately raised his hand. "I'll go."

"Me too," Hermione and Ron chimed in unison.

"Harry's not going without me," said Sirius.

"I'm afraid that the town is not entirely friendly towards my kind," said Remus. "I would bring unwanted attention."

"I could go," said Bill. "You never know when you might need a curse-breaker." He looked over, catching Draco's gaze. "It could be fun."

"I doubt fun," said Draco. "But I'll go too. You never know when you might need a genius."

Bill laughed.

"I want to go," said Ginny.

Draco was waiting for her to announce her intentions in joining the group. He also knew she wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer.

"Ginny, no," said Mrs. Weasley. "It's dangerous. You're still a child."

"Don't even try that excuse," said Ginny. "Ron was younger when he went to the Ministry with Harry."

"And if we'd known about it, we would have stopped him from going."

"So because I'm asking permission, I don't get to go."

"Precisely," said Mr. Weasley.

Ginny looked over to Dumbledore. "My presence would be useful. I've already been possessed by one horcrux. I'll be able to sense the other one, won't I?"

"Yes, but so will Harry because of his scar. That link should be enough."

"But if there are two of us, we could break into groups and halve our search time. My marks in defense are exemplary, I won't be a hindrance."

"Ginny, your mother already said no," Arthur warned.

Ginny didn't look over; she was still locking gazes with Dumbledore.

"Your daughter has a point," Dumbledore finally conceded. "With your permission, Arthur and Molly, she would be a great help."

Draco saw the reluctance on her parents' faces. They seemed to hold a silent confirmation before Mrs. Weasley's shoulders slumped and Mr. Weasley took her hand.

"Ginny, we want you to be safe," Arthur started.

"Draco won't let anything happen to me," said Ginny quickly.

Everyone looked his way. Draco was a little startled at the attention, but Ginny spoke only what he had decided in his mind.

"I will do everything in my power to get her back safely," he promised.

He could see his words didn't mean much. He wasn't surprised or bothered by their disbelief. They had known him as an enemy for most of his life.

"I'll be there too," said Bill. "Between me and Draco, someone will always have an eye on her."

Bill surprised Draco. He knew the oldest sibling was horrendously protective of the youngest. He wondered what made him agree to Ginny's participation; Ginny's proof of assistance or Draco's promise.

"Mum, dad, please. I need to do this."

Or perhaps it was the eager, hopeful, begging expression on Ginny's face. Draco doubted that face was rarely denied anything.

"Very well," said Arthur. "But Ginny, you have to promise to do whatever Bill or the others tell you. No reckless behavior, understand?"

"Absolutely," said Ginny immediately. She grinned and shot Draco an excited look. Draco rolled his eyes because only Gryffindors would get excited about walking into possible near-death scenarios.

"Then it is decided," said Dumbledore. "I will see to our travel arrangements, and later tonight, we will meet again to discuss our plans."

And that was everyone's cue to fall back to normal conversation for the rest of breakfast. Beside him, Ginny practically vibrated excited energy.

"Most likely it will be horrendously dull," he told her. "We'll walk through old buildings, poke around in attics, inhale dust and cobwebs, and if we're lucky, find the horcrux."

Ginny shook her head. "It's the first thing I'm allowed to do," she explained. "Ron has forever been having adventures with Harry while I've been stuck a grade behind."

"You were in the DA two years ago," said Draco.

"Which you so rudely interrupted," Ginny accused.

Draco shrugged unapologetically. "Working for Umbridge had its perks."

"Like what?"

"End of the year party with the two barrels of firewhiskey we confiscated from the seventh year Hufflepuffs," said Draco.

"You're such a Slytherin," said Ginny.

Draco smirked. "Thank you."

After breakfast, he adjourned to his study. He had no doubt that Dumbledore would have a fully functional array of instruments for their sojourn into Black Water, but he was lord of Malfoy Manor and had access to quite a few tools Dumbledore might not even consider.

He jotted down a quick list of things he would need Tolly to purchase, or scrounge up from some closet in the estate, and then stood up. He immediately sat back down again when there was a knock and Harry entered his study looking a little hesitant.

ooooooooooooo—ooooooooooooo--ooooooooooooo

Harry knocked softly on the door and then entered Draco's study. The blond had just risen from a large, cluttered desk, a paper in his hand, but when he saw Harry he immediately sat back down. Harry wondered what Draco could tell by looking at him. He could no doubt see his hesitance, but could he know why? Sometimes, Harry thought Draco was a little…intimidating.

"Problem, Potter?" Draco asked.

The Slytherin raised one eyebrow. Like right now he was intimidating, because when Draco got that blank expression with the arched eyebrow, he looked like he was studying some lesser sort of being. Like he was a scientist, staring down at a collection of beetles, and wondering if they were worth his time to study, or if he should just squash the bunch.

Harry mutely shook his head because he suddenly wondered if the blond had the power to simply crush everyone in his home. He watched Draco's eyebrows narrow, and then Draco was sitting up, his expression clearing.

"Well, I need you for a moment anyway," he announced.

And then Draco was pulling things off of the shelves in the study and dumping them on the table in the middle of the room. He tossed Harry something that looked oddly like a Muggle mouthguard.

"Put that in," Draco ordered.

Harry turned it over in his hands, not sure he wanted to. "What's it for?" he asked.

"You," said Draco distractedly, paging through a few books, and it was amazing how he could go from aloof, to intent, to distracted in the space of a few seconds, "when you speak Parseltongue, are pronouncing words the average human mouth should not be able to form. The human mouth simply isn't designed the same way as a snake's. There is a different palate, a different tongue, different teeth."

Harry hadn't thought of the physical impediments to the snake language before. He'd assumed it was just magic, and that magic being magic, could do a lot of impossible things. Being thrust into a world of charms and spells without any background know-how had made him assume there weren't any limitations to magic.

"So, how do I speak it?" he asked, stepping closer to the table.

Draco looked up at him. "Magic," he said simply. "I'm assuming, that is. I'm actually hoping I'll find a mutation in the structure of your mouth. Most Parselmouths are direct descendants from Salazar Slytherin, which would suggest a genetic mutation, but you aren't related to him in anyway. So, unless you happen to have the exact same genetic mishap as Salazar, it's a sort of magical interference I haven't seen before."

Harry took a moment to absorb that information. "I see," he said finally.

Draco gestured for him to put the mouthplate in, and Harry reluctantly fit it in. It immediately adhered to his teeth and stretched out across the roof of his mouth. It wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but it felt odd. Harry explored the odd mouthplate with his tongue.

"What does this do?" he asked.

He stepped forward as Draco turned a book around for him to see the page. There, on the white paper, a diagram was forming. It looked to be the inside of a mouth, with teeth and muscles and ligaments.

"Is that my mouth?" Harry asked, and then stared as the diagram on the page moved as he spoke.

"Yes," Draco confirmed. "On this page, I have the movement of your jaw, and over here…," he flipped over a few pages, "is the exact motion of your tongue and lips. I need you to read the words marked here."

Draco handed him the Parseltongue journal Harry had made with Hermione's help. Nearly half the words on the page were preceded by a black dash.

It wasn't difficult to speak in Parseltongue, but it took a specific frame of mind. Harry had to stretch for that feeling, had to imagine a snake right there in front of him, and then looked down at the page. He read off the words there, hissing and occasionally spitting. Now that Draco had mentioned some sort of magic, he was aware of the way his tongue undulated around the words. It not only sounded foreign, it felt foreign.

He reached the bottom of the list and Draco gestured for him to keep going. Harry turned the page, saw that over half of these words were marked, and continued reading.

"That's fine," Draco interrupted halfway through that list. "I've got what I need."

Harry pulled the mouthpiece out. "What do I do with his?"

"Just toss it," said Draco. "I certainly don't want it anymore."

Harry looked around and saw the rubbish bin by the door. He tossed the plate in and then walked back to the table.

"What did it tell you?" he asked.

Draco didn't answer for a moment. He was flipping through the book of diagrams, frowning. Harry watched as Draco's right hand rubbed his left arm absently and the frown twisted into a grimace.

"Does it hurt?" Harry asked.

Draco glanced over, eyebrow raised, and Harry pointed at his arm. Draco seemed surprised to see his hand clamped around his arm.

"Sometimes my scar hurts when I speak Parseltongue," said Harry.

Draco's eyes narrowed, and he let go of his arm, staring at his shirt sleeve for a moment.

"Were you scared?" Harry blurted, surprising himself and Draco. The cold grey eyes turned to him. "It's just that… I don't think I've seen you really scared before, even when you're facing Voldemort."

"Is there a point to this, Potter?" Draco asked, pushing the books to the side and leaning on the table.

"I have to kill Voldemort," said Harry.

"Oh, is that what the whole 'Chosen One' thing is about?" asked Draco, sarcasm tainting his voice.

"Shove it, Malfoy, I'm serious," said Harry. "That's what the prophecy says."

Now Draco raised an eyebrow again, but instead of looking distant this time, he was intrigued. "So there is a prophecy. I thought it was just a rumor, or just a vague mention of war and they stuck your name on it."

"It's a real prophecy," said Harry.

Draco paused, his forehead furrowed. "Alright, you've got me," he said, after a moment. "What are you trying to say, or are you just looking for a heart-to-heart? I'm a genius, not a therapist."

"I have to kill Voldemort," said Harry again, because this was part of his point.

"Because the prophecy says you have to," said Draco.

"Him or me," Harry agreed. "But recently… Dumbledore's been looking at me weird."

Draco's lips twitched. "Tell him you're flattered, but just not interested."

Harry stared, confused, and then he realized what Draco meant. He felt a flash of anger.

"Damn it, Malfoy," he snapped. "This is serious."

His outburst had Draco staring at him again, but then the blond nodded and sat down. Harry pulled out a chair as well and took a deep breath.

"Dumbledore told me the prophecy at the end of fifth year," he started, but Draco was already interrupting.

"End of fifth year?" he asked. "How long has he known the prophecy?"

"Since I was born."

Harry watched as Draco put his hands flat on the table. "Since you were born? And he didn't feel like you needed to know before? Merlin Potter, you've been a target since you first appeared in Diagon Alley. What was Dumbledore thinking?"

"He didn't want to burden me with it," said Harry.

"But everyone already thought you would be the one to kill him simply because of your scar. What's wrong with giving you a heads-up?"

"He thought it was right," said Harry with a shrug because he couldn't change things now. "Anyway, before he told me, he spent all fifth year avoiding me, and sometimes giving me these looks, like I was fated for a tragic end and beyond his help."

"And now he's doing the same thing," said Draco.

"Yeah," said Harry. He screwed up his face in distaste because it really was disconcerting.

"And you want to know if I know anything," Draco guessed.

Harry nodded. "I know that Dumbledore might confide in you, ask for your opinion on things."

Draco shook his head. "He hasn't. Not about you, at least."

"Could you…could you keep an ear open for me?" Harry asked. He tensed at the question, not knowing how Draco would take it.

"You want me to spy for you?" asked Draco. "On Dumbledore?"

"Yes?" said Harry, the affirmative coming out as a question. To his relief, Draco smiled.

"I'm impressed, Potter. We'll make a Slytherin of you yet."

"It's not that I don't trust him," said Harry quickly. "It's just that… I know that I might die fighting Voldemort. It's a real possibility, and I've been living with that for two years now, and I'm okay with it."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"No, I am," said Harry. "I mean, I'd rather not, but in the long run, someone has to do it. And I'm okay with that being me. But… I need to know if Dumbledore has something he's not telling me. I need to be able to face it. The last time I was kept in the dark, people died, and if that happens again," Harry had to swallow, thinking about Sirius, "well, it can't happen again."

He looked up at Draco and kept the grey gaze without looking away. Draco finally nodded.

"I'll do what I can. Keep my ears open."

"That's not all," said Harry, and he saw the trepidation cross Draco's face. "I want you to listen to this and tell me what you think." He took a breath, and then started. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approach-,"

He cut off as Draco threw out a hand and recoiled.

"Merde, Potter," the Slytherin swore. "You sure you want to fill me in on this? I mean, yes, I'm curious and I want to know, and yes, Dumbledore not telling you anything else is a little…manipulative, but sit back and think about it for a minute."

Harry smiled because, really, Draco wasn't as Slytherin as he wished to be.

"I need someone I can trust," he said.

"And you think that's me," said Draco.

"You want Voldemort dead, right?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, it'd be nice," said Draco.

"But you were going to stop me from telling you the prophecy."

"Because you can't know, one hundred percent, that you can trust me," said Draco.

"And that's exactly why I can."

He saw the blond scoff. "Your Gryffindor logic is so far below me, I don't understand it."

"Cut the crap, Malfoy," said Harry. "I know you get it. You don't want to, because it's all honesty and faith, but you understand. I need someone who won't keep me out of the loop. Dumbledore means well, but he's not particularly forthcoming. He's trying to protect me. He doesn't see that I don't need it anymore."

He watched, anxiously, as Draco leaned back in his chair and gave a sigh. "Alright," said the Slytherin, somewhat reluctantly. "Let's hear it."

Harry recited from memory. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives."

Draco pursed his lips. "It does seem oddly specific," he said.

"Dumbledore said that when the prophecy was given it could refer to me or Neville, but Voldemort chose me and that marked me as his equal. And when he tried to kill me, my mother's love stopped him from destroying me."

Draco snorted. "Love? Seriously."

It figured that the blond would doubt that part of tale.

"It's true," Harry insisted. "Voldemort couldn't touch me until fourth year. I mean that literally. His skin burned whenever he touched me."

"It sounds ridiculous," said Draco.

"But it's why I'm still here today, because of her and because of her sacrifice. He wasn't trying to kill her, just me. She stood in the way."

"Alright, so we're talking sacrificial magic. I suppose it could happen." Draco still looked unconvinced.

"Do you notice anything about it?" asked Harry. "Something I haven't picked up yet?"

"Neither can live while the other survives. I hate to point out the obvious," said Draco drolly, "but both of you are alive right now."

"So what does that mean?" asked Harry.

"It means you have a really bad translation," said Draco.

"Translation?" asked Harry, because Trelawney had just spoken in English.

"Most prophecies are given in the Ancient Languages," said Draco. "Here, in this prophecy, 'live' should probably be translated to flourish. I think it's safe to say that Voldemort won't achieve world power if you are still alive. In the reverse, I don't think you will be safe if you don't kill him. You won't be able to ignore his presence."

"So I have to kill him or England is never safe."

"It does appear to point to you. What calendar is the prophecy using?"

"What do you mean?"

Draco sighed. "Well, if it's not English, the prophecy could be referring to an older calendar as well."

"But it's Trelawney who gave the prophecy," said Harry. "She gave me another one too. In English. I was right there to hear it. And then she didn't remember saying it."

Draco rubbed a hand over his face. "It doesn't make sense," he said. He sighed again. "I'll look into it."

The Slytherin suddenly looked so tired, Harry felt contrite. "I didn't mean to give you more work," he apologized.

Draco quirked his lips. "I'm not happy without work," he said.

"Still," said Harry, "you shouldn't have to do everything."

"Says the one who must kill Voldemort."

Harry gave a wry grin and stood. "Well, thanks, Draco."

"Anytime."

Harry gestured to the journal. "Did you figure out how I speak Parseltongue?"

Draco shrugged. "According to these diagrams, you shouldn't be."

oooooooooooo—ooooooooooooo--ooooooooooooo

Again, very little time to edit this chapter. I apologize for the typos and grammar. Next chapter should be up in two weeks. Please leave a review!


	33. When Fear Becomes Real

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did…well, many happy things would happen.

Author's note: Hello all. I'm alive. However, grad school's keeping me busier than I thought it would. Between classes and homework and research and job stuff - and then they expect us to socialize with other students and the professors? - it's pretty intense. But, here is the next chapter. I shall endeavor to have the next one done in two weeks, but if it changes, I'll try to let you know beforehand. My apologies for the wait.

ooooOOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOooo

Draco pulled back the door on the train and a blast of frigid, damp air struck him as he stepped onto the platform. He reflexively sucked in a breath and immediately sneezed.

He pulled up short, nose still itching; he hadn't planned for this. He tentatively sniffed the air. The copper, salty smell of blood hit his nose, accompanied by the rich scent of peat and tinged with the odd tickle of a freshly opened bottle of paprika. It was the smell of death, death and insanity. There was nothing evil about death, or insanity. But when death collected, like it had in Black Water, the scent remained.

In purely technical terms, it wasn't a scent exactly. It was a presence, a magical signature that manifested itself through a synthetic synestesia in the form of an odor. Not every wizard was sensitized to the presence of death. It took repeated exposure. The same with evil. Evil smelled of sulfur and burnt flesh. It didn't take as much exposure because that scent was much stronger. Most dark wizards, or those raised in dark families, could recognize the smell. Those wizards only ate their meat cooked rare, or abstained from red meat entirely. There were very few barbeque restaurants in the wizarding world.

This scent, though, complicated things. He let his mind turn the matter over as he turned back to the train. He offered a hand to Hermione who was dressed like he was, long coat, hat, gloves and scarf. She was carrying a metal case. Draco didn't offer to relieve her of the burden. He was their protection, and he needed both hands free to draw his wand, should the need arrive.

He handed Ginny down next; Bill followed with a larger metal case. The cases were the only disguise they needed. Should anyone ask, Bill was a meteorological researcher studying the effects of the large conglomeration of ghosts on the atmosphere. Hermione was his partner. Ginny and Draco were lowly interns. No one would ask though. Only two types came into town, the ones running from the law and the academics. The perpetually cold weather meant the Order members didn't even have to worry about Polyjuice or physical disguises. Everyone wore hats and coats, even indoors because the ghosts carried the cold with them.

Bill gave a sniff to the air, as if confused. Draco figured that, as a former curse breaker, he was sensitive to the presence of death. Hermione was unaffected. Draco glanced over to Ginny. He saw her take a breath, and then her eyes darkened and lost their focus. It was like she was looking inward, searching for an answer, and then she blinked. She knew the scent as well.

"This way," said Draco.

He led them off the platform, skirting the station, and coming out onto a deserted street. There was hardly anyone out. Draco guided the others down two city blocks and over one, and they passed only two pedestrians. One had thick glasses and was carrying an armful of folders, the other was dressed completely in black, glancing furtively at the quartet before moving on.

For a ghost town, Black Water was well preserved. The sidewalk was still smooth, the buildings were empty but still standing and the glass windows were still intact. Only a few pieces of litter skittered across the street, driven by the biting wind. It was the cold that helped preserve this town. No one wanted to be outside long enough to graffiti, mug or murder. Smashed windows only let in frigid air.

The hotel was the only building on this block with lights on. Draco pushed open the door and stepped into the lobby, sweeping the room over before moving further in and letting the others enter behind him. It was still cold, even indoors. Draco could feel the heating charms and circulation vents doing their best to provide warmth, but they only managed to temper the winter cold to an autumn chill.

The lobby was full of academics with their gadgets and recording equipment out. While assistants or spelled quills took notes, the researchers gathered in groups for card games or chatter. They only noticed the new arrivals long enough to raise their still-mittened hands in a greeting. Out here, in the desolate town, everyone was a friend.

Draco waved in reply and retrieved the room keys from the front desk. They took the elevator up to the fourth floor and joined the rest of the expedition in the third room on the left.

"Right on time," said Dumbledore with a smile. "Any trouble on the trip in?"

Dumbledore, Sirius, Harry and Ron had arrived yesterday. Smaller groups would attract less attention.

"None at all," said Bill. He took a seat on the couch in the small sitting area. He didn't move to take off his coat, neither of them did. Harry and Ron were in thick jumpers and hats. Sirius was in his animagus form, even though Draco didn't remember that being part of the plan. Perhaps it was warmer to be covered by thick fur than dressing in layers.

"It's ridiculously cold," said Hermione, sitting next to Harry.

"The density of non-corporeal life forms will do that," Draco said wryly. He sat on a desk chair pulled over to form a rough circle. He glanced over to Dumbledore. "We have a complication."

"We do?" Bill asked, startled, even as Dumbledore nodded.

"I noticed it disembarking as well. This town has, unfortunately for us, absorbed some less-than-desirable energies. It is unlikely that Harry and Ginny will be able to sense the horcrux from a distance due to this…interference of auras."

"What does that mean?" Hermione asked.

Draco knew she understood the explanation, and was actually inquiring on how this affected their plan.

"With a limited range, Harry and Ginny would probably have to be standing right outside the house or building that the horcrux is in," said Draco. "Unless we wanted to walk past every structure in this town, we're going to have to narrow the location down."

"How?" Ron asked.

Draco got up. "I'm going to go scrounge up a cup of coffee," he said.

"And chat with the locals," said Dumbledore, anticipating his plan.

Draco smirked and left the room.

He headed back down to the lobby and crossed over to the complimentary coffee the hotel offered. Another man was helping himself to a cup and Draco nodded in greeting.

"I'm Dan Schulyk," said the man, sticking out his hand. "Magical signature investigator."

"Drake Matthews," said Draco, clasping his hand. "Meteorology."

"Here to find a way to make this place a little bit warmer?" Dan asked.

"Merlin, I hope so," said Draco, playing the part of a friendly intern.

Dan laughed. "You're fresh off the train, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You'll get used to it," the researcher assured him. "I've been here four years now. Went home for Christmas and wore short sleeves. Come on and meet the rest of my team."

Draco followed him over to where a mini-lab was set up. Dan's team composed of two men and a woman who were currently enwrapped in a card game. From the five cards in hand, and three on the table, they were playing Fate. They weren't playing for money though, just small pieces of hard candy. This was one of the reasons Draco would never go into research. There was too much downtime while the machines collected data over a period of days, sometimes weeks. He would go insane.

He introduced himself to the team, making sure to be charming so that he was offered a seat. The woman, Lara, graciously offered him a handful of candies to play a couple of rounds. Draco accepted, the cards were dealt, and he was quizzed about the research he would be a part of.

Draco knew enough about weather charms to be convincing, and then he asked the team about their own research. By the fifth hand, Draco allowed himself to win a pot, and then he casually asked about any older abandoned buildings in the area.

"It's the equipment," he explained. "Along with the grant we were supposed to get a new weather tracker, but the big heads upstairs decided to be cheap and gave us a machine from the sixties. We've tried retrofitting it with ghost barriers and warming charms, but none of the spells want to stick. Do you know of any place with limited ghost activity? And preferably one where the machine won't walk off with new friends?" He alluded to the less than savory residents of Black Water with a small grimace.

"Most of the ghosts keep to themselves," said Dan. "Their deaths are still pretty new to them. What was it Jeff said?" He looked to Lara, and then, for Draco, "Jeff's the resident ghost expert."

"On average, it takes a ghost twenty to twenty-five years to seek out human interaction, disregarding relatives, of course," Lara recited.

"Still got some years to go, then," said Dan. "Most of the living residents of the town live on Crescent Street, and the ghosts keep around there."

"He could try the old library," offered one of the men.

"Too close to Crescent," Lara disagreed.

Draco took the deck of cards, as it was his turn to deal, and shuffled while the team debated among themselves. It took another three hands, but they finally decided on four possible locations. Neither of those four locations suited Draco's criteria for the possible location of the horcrux, but it was the places the team dismissed that he was more interested in, one in particular.

"You've all been a big help," he told them. "You've saved me countless hours of roaming the streets."

"We're happy to help," said Dan.

Draco gave his pile of candies back to Lara. He had doubled their number. He stood with a smile. "Thanks again. I think I better head back and check on the team."

He escaped after a few promises to join them for another game sometime, and traveled back upstairs to room 405.

"Any luck?" Bill asked.

"I think so," said Draco.

One Floo trip and ten minutes of walking, and the search party was standing outside an old house on the outskirts of Black Water. It was originally a manor of sorts, but Black Water had grown around in, eating up the land and placing a modern array of townhouses around the premises.

The manor was brick and nearly covered in climbing vines. It still appeared structurally sound though. The front garden was a miniature forest that threatened the entire front lawn and porch. The unbroken glass windows were a direct contrast to the neglect. Just what Draco was looking for.

"Why this house?" Ron asked with a certain amount of trepidation.

"Because no one who enters leaves with their right minds," said Draco. "Most people have learned to stay away. And it was abandoned when our thief fled to this town, meaning that he would have been able to stockpile his goods here."

"I'd like to leave with my right mind," Ron said.

"We're not entering with the intention to prove our mettle, or to pillage the house," said Draco. "The entities that still protect this house will know that. It will ease our passage."

"If you say so," Ron muttered, remaining unconvinced.

Draco unlatched the front gate and started up the moss-covered sidewalk. He slipped his hand inside his coat and pulled out his wand. His unregistered wand. For as much as he had spoken the truth to Ron, he had a feeling some darker spells might be called upon within the next few minutes.

He stepped up onto the front porch and waited for Dumbledore to catch up.

"On three?" the Headmaster asked.

"Your count," said Draco, raising his wand.

The door swung open with a creak.

"Because that doesn't say haunted house," said Ron behind him.

Draco's lips quirked and he started forward, but Bill caught onto the collar of his coat, halting his movement.

"Age before beauty, kid," said Bill, teasing to lighten the collective dread that had gathered on the front porch.

Draco scowled as Ron snickered. It wasn't as if he was completely unfamiliar with dark houses. In fact, he probably had the most experiences with such wards and precautionary spells. He waited with ill-grace as the adults moved into the house, casting revealing spells and shield charms. Amateurs. What they needed first was a perception filter to disguise their signatures from the wards.

"Alright, you can come in," said Bill. "But carefully."

Draco didn't wait for any further invitation. He crossed over the threshold and found himself in a large welcoming hall covered in accumulated grime and cobwebs. The house was still fully furnished though, which was a good sign. Precautions to prevent thieving meant that something in this house was worth guarding. Draco was hoping that something was Bickle's hoard of stolen goods. Of course, that also meant something was doing the guarding. Draco just hoped it wasn't a dragon.

He moved further in, the Golden Trio following behind him. It was dark in the hall. Only the dimmest of light made it through the dirt-encrusted windows and somewhere to the left, a flutter of wings sounded. Bats.

"Creepy," Hermione whispered to Harry, and her voice carried further than it should have, echoing throughout the hall.

If the house hadn't reeked of genuine decay, it would be almost laughable. It was a stereotypical haunted house.

"Where to?" Ron asked softly.

As if to answer his question, the chandelier over the landing of the stairs turned on. It was hung with cobwebs and dust and a behemoth moth took flight to hover wound the weak light. Ron shuddered.

"Upstairs, I believe," said Draco. He spoke at a normal volume, not worried about being heard. Whatever had protected this house already knew they had arrived. But what kind a creature was it? House elves were known to go a little feral after their masters disappeared. Poltergeists could become incredibly powerful, given the right environment, and Black Water definitely qualified. But it didn't quite fit. This house had been guarded and protected for years. It must be a guardian of sorts.

A brownie perhaps. Or maybe a kobold. A tomte, if it were old enough could wield considerable protective magic.

He started for the stairs, and Bill hurried to keep up.

"Merlin, Draco," Bill exclaimed softly. "How about you wait for some back-up, huh?"

Draco rolled his eyes but made no comment. The stairs turned at the landing, leading them up to another hall. This time the lights led them to the right, through a set of doors and into a large room. It was clean in here. The floor was polished wood, the drapes a deep shade of gold. The window glass was clear and the view was an enchanted beach scene. A table stood to the side, surface freshly polished. A tiny cabinet in the corner boasted a vase of fresh flowers. A matching, but larger cabinet sat on the opposite side of the room.

From the upkeep of this room, the house had a brownie. Draco grimaced. Brownies were notorious for their odd personalities and mischievous behavior. Mischievous was too kind of a word.

"Is anyone else a little confused?" Sirius asked, bringing up the rear of the group.

"I think it's in the cabinet," Harry said suddenly.

Draco looked over to see that Potter had paled slightly. His brow was furrowed and his hand was rubbing at his forehead. Draco wondered when he'd started noting the presence of the horcrux.

He stepped over to the cabinet and studied the lock. There was no key hole. Dumbledore pressed a hand against the wood.

"A vanishing cabinet," the Headmaster said in surprise. "Very rare. Unless I miss my guess, this leads somewhere else in the home."

The doors slammed shut behind the goup. Most jumped; Draco just smirked. He was similarly unsurprised when the cabinet in the corner jolted.

"What the hell?" Sirius demanded, just as the door to the tiny cabinet burst open and a little man popped out. His facial features were exaggerated and his ears large. He wore brightly striped pants, a yellow shirt, and shoes that turned up at the toes. His hair was white underneath a tiny bowler hat.

"Welcome ye unwelcomed visitors." The brownie bowed low, sweeping his hat off his head.

Draco bowed back, seeing Dumbledore do the same. The rest followed their example.

"We thank thee for the welcome," said Dumbledore. "We mean no harm to you or your home."

"Many have claimed the same," said the brownie. "What has brought you to my house?"

"We seek an item of value," said Dumbledore. "It was stolen, many years ago."

"And you are the rightful owner?" the little man challenged.

"No," said Dumbledore.

It was the right thing to say. Truth was held in high esteem with the brownies and they always knew a falsehood when they were told one.

"There is a lair," the brownie stated. "A hoard greater than that of the dragons of old, but the way is not easy."

These things were never easy. Draco exchanged a look of trepidation with Bill.

"Show us the way," said Dumbledore. "We are not short of courage."

The little man smiled and moved backwards, bowing low. "Courageous so you claim to be. Time will tell and we shall see. What do you know, it's time for tea. But a knock on the door, who could that be?"

The words were spoken in a high sing-song, ending in a giggle, and after the giggle there was a knock. And another. Harry stiffened and Sirius took a step forward. The knocking continued, it was coming from a chest in the far corner, half-hidden by the drapes.

"A Boggart," said Bill. "This house must be full of them."

Draco watched the brownie take up a wicker basket. The little man's eyes were too mischievous to make him worry, but Sirius did shout as the brownie threw open the flaps on the basket.

A large cloth flew out and settled over the table. Dishes and glasses followed next, then trays of cakes and biscuits and sandwiches, even a pot of soup and two bottles of wine, all whizzing through the air to settle on the table. A teapot was last, steam rising from its spout. The brownie had said it was tea time, but the fare was more of a luncheon.

"Courageous you must prove to be, or your prize you will not see," sang the brownie. "Prove your mettle, all you here. Gather your bravest to dine with fear."

"Why?" asked Sirius. "Is it poisoned?"

"I think he meant it literally," said Draco. "He wants us to dine with the Boggart."

The knocking started again. Draco hadn't realized it stopped until the rap sounded once more, slow and steady and methodical. Knock. Knock. Knock.

He already knew how this was going to play out, but he waited, wondering, hoping that someone else would take the initiative.

"Mine's a thunderstorm," said Ginny. "As long as we didn't mind getting a little wet…," she shrugged, letting her offer trail off.

"Mine's a Dementor," said Harry. "Probably not the best of ideas."

"Spider," said Ron. "Big, hairy, eight-legs. Poisonous, but it wouldn't really be poisonous, so if we trapped it, perhaps?"

"The difficulty lies with this house," said Dumbledore. "I thank you for your offers, but these boggarts have been living here for decades, perhaps longer."

"What does that mean?" asked Ginny.

"They can grow in power, like poltergeists," said Draco, answering for the Headmaster. "Ron, your boggart-spider might actually contain a sort of venom, not on scale like a real spider, but enough to cause harm. Ginny, your thunderstorm could get more than a little dangerous and, well, no one likes Dementors, even fake ones."

"Mine's bodies," said Hermione. She grabbed Harry's hand and Draco knew that her corpses would be those gathered here. "Bodies couldn't…get out of hand, could they?"

"But your real fear is failing those you care about," said Draco. "The bodies are just the tangible result of that failure."

"So…this super-boggart, or whatever, might actually harm all of you present, to make my fear real," Hermione deduced.

"I'm afraid so, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore.

Draco looked about the group, already indentifying each individual's fear. Sirius would be Harry's death. Dumbledore's was the same as Hermione's, and Bill's was the death of his family, real and adopted.

"Oh, bloody hell," he groaned.

"Would it be safe?" asked Dumbledore, looking towards him

"He's never hurt anyone before and Merlin knows he probably had the power to do so," Draco said, but reluctantly. "He's always been as real as he could be. I doubt this house would give him any added benefit."

"Give who benefit?" asked Ginny.

To Draco's right, the trunk lid flew off. Draco clenched his eyes shut and heard the collective gasp as his boggart sat up. At least Bill and Dumbledore had seen him before.

"Merlin, Malfoy," Ron breathed. "Is that-?"

"Yes," said Draco, his eyes still shut. "That's me."

"I most certainly am not!"

Draco opened his eyes and turned to face the damage. Lord Draco stood before him, dressed just as foppishly as before. This time it was a scarlet jacket with gold buttons and a matching gold brocade vest. The silk shirt underneath was blindingly white, an exact contrast to the black trousers. The boots were red-brown and with a riding heel to them. Draco actually remembered seeing Lord Draco wearing them before.

Lord Draco shrugged. "They're my favorite," he said, reading his thoughts like usual.

"You look like a Gryffindor," said Draco, displeased by the color choice.

"I look good in red," said Lord Draco. "Besides, I destroyed Hogwarts. No Gryffindor house left to contend with. Aren't you going to introduce me?"

Draco sighed and turned back to the group. "You already know Dumbledore and Bill."

"Bill!" Lord Draco exclaimed happily. He tripped over to the red-haired men, too high to walk a straight line, and then – Draco let out a pained breath – threw his arms around the eldest Weasley child. "I missed you. You've been dead for so long."

Bill's eyes were startled, but he gamely patted the boggart's thin shoulders.

"Glad I'm still here," said Bill.

Lord Draco pulled back. "I killed your son while your wife watched. I made you slit her throat. You weren't the same afterwards. I think you hated me."

Draco felt ill. He wanted to throw his boggart back in the trunk and let someone else deal with entertaining their fear. They should just risk it with the thunderstorm. Draco knew several good shielding charms, so what if they got a little singed by lightning?

Bill looked to Draco. "I probably would hate you after that," he said with a shrug.

Draco knew that Bill was affected by his boggart's words, but the forced nonchalance removed the knot in his stomach.

"I would certainly hope so," said Draco, not bothering to hide his grimace.

Lord Draco looked over to Dumbledore and the glazed eyes narrowed.

"Secrets, Headmaster?" he asked.

Dumbledore looked startled, eyes blinking briefly, but Lord Draco had already lost interest. He spun around and regarded Sirius.

"Sirius Black, the one who came back."

"Lord Draco," said Draco testily. "We've had enough rhymes for the day."

"Spoil my fun, tell me I'm done, don't bother to run," Lord Draco prattled in sing-song. He stopped and gave a sly smile. "For danger is already here."

There was meaning to those words, the clouds had cleared briefly and a moment of sanity emerged from the boggart. Lord Draco blinked and it was gone again.

"I'm Lord Draco," said the boggart, holding out his hand to Sirius. The man shook it warily; Lord Draco's grasp was limp.

"And the Terrific Trio," said Draco dryly. "Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Miss Hermione Granger."

"The Chosen One and Company," Lord Draco returned. "Hello." He gave a nod to the three and then smirked and Harry. "I'm afraid your best efforts were in vain."

"Stop gloating," Draco reprimanded. He looked over to Harry. "Apparently he rules the world now."

"Not the world just yet," Lord Draco confided to the boy-hero. "I'm having a bit of trouble with Canada, of all places. It's the damndest thing."

Lord Draco smirked again and then turned to the last of their group, Ginny. Draco took a step forward, just in case, but the response wasn't what he had expected. Lord Draco locked eyes with Ginny and stared. His face paled. Even his lips turned white. He turned wild eyes onto Draco.

"Why?" he demanded, crossing over to Draco and latching onto his coat. His voice was furious and rasping. "Why would you do this to us? Why would you bring her here? Did you want to torment me!" The last was shout and then Lord Draco shoved Draco back and stumbled a few steps away. Draco watched his boggarts' hands shake. A vial was pulled out of his jacket. The drugs were tossed back. It wasn't enough. He could see that.

He watched Lord Draco stagger over to the table and grab a bottle of wine. The boggart retreated once more, huddling in the corner across the room. He barely managed to get the cork out and bring the bottle to his lips.

"Well," said Draco, trying to remove all of the attention from his doppleganger, "the faster we drink the tea, the faster he can crawl back into his trunk."

He deliberately walked over to the table and sat, keeping his head down, not wanting to look anyone in the eye. He made no move to eat or drink though. He was sure his hands were trembling and he was feeling nauseous.

Bill took the chair to his right and Ginny at his left. He risked a glance and saw her staring at Lord Draco, an odd look on her face. The rest filtered into their chair as well, leaving the seat at the end of the table free. Lord Draco appeared to be chugging the wine.

Dumbledore poured the tea for everyone and then performed a few charms on it just to be sure.

"It appears to be safe," the Headmaster said. He looked over to the corner. "Lord Draco, you are welcome to join us."

Draco watched his boggart lower the bottle, studying them all with cold grey eyes. Then the smile was back, the half-crazed, forced smile.

"Of course, where are my manners?" asked Lord Draco. He walked to the table like he was crossing a ship in the middle of a storm, the wine bottle held tightly in his hand. He nearly sprawled on his face when he caught his feet together and laughed at himself. He dropped gracelessly into his seat and sent a smile at them all. "So, what brings you to this depleted mansion?"

Draco saw the way his boggart avoided looking in Ginny's direction. Lord Draco helped himself to a sandwich and then served Bill. He surveyed the table with mocking eyes when no one answered.

"Horcrux," Bill finally supplied.

"Ah, the last one," said Lord Draco. "The goblet, yes, that would make a worthy prize." He looked over to Dumbledore. "How does it feel, Headmaster? To be so close to the end, yet have it just out of reach?"

"We are dining with you," Dumbledore said evenly. "It is not so far."

"If you say so," said Lord Draco. He then looked to Hermione and Harry. He smiled. "I knew you two were going to get together. I could see it from first year. The idealist and the hero. So cute, so naïve, so… dead."

Harry looked to Draco, the question in his eyes.

"I killed you," Lord Draco supplied. "After bringing down the Order. Then, through a series of brilliant political moves, became Minister at the tender age of twenty-one after assassinating my predecessor, Percy Weasley. He was getting too suspicious."

Percy Weasley. That was a new name to add to his list. Draco saw Bill turn to him, but made no move to answer.

"After England, the world," said Lord Draco. He shrugged and fiddled with his silverware.

"So," said Ron, turning to Draco. "This is you off the deep-end?"

"I'm him living to his potential," Lord Draco answered. "But, they say that power corrupts, and I've never liked people telling me how I should behave, always second-guessing my every motive and preaching about morality and other such trivialities." He sent a sideways glance to Bill then picked up the bottle of wine again. He nearly sloshed half of it down his shirt because his efforts were uncoordinated and his hands were trembling.

"And you're afraid of _him_?" Ron asked, still looking at Draco.

The wrong thing to say. Draco heard some nervous titters and simply braced himself for whatever came next.

Lord Draco lowered the bottle, setting it down gently on the table.

"Afraid?" he asked, staring at the youngest Weasley son. His eyes were glassy and red-rimmed. His face was haggard and pale and his lips were chapped. Lord Draco laughed, a harsh, grating chortle that made Dumbledore across the table lower his hand to his lap. He was readying to pull his wand. He needn't have bothered. Lord Draco wasn't a physical threat. The worst dangers never were.

"When I tore apart the Order," said Lord Draco, in a low, deadly voice. "it wasn't through an attack. I hope you realize how easy it was, how precious little I had to do. People… people are like animals. They act in predictable ways if you understand their motivations. I started with you Ron."

Ron sat back, looking to Harry for support.

"Rather," said Lord Draco, "I started with you, and Harry, and Hermione. You see, the cracks in the foundation were already there. I just drove the wedge a little deeper." His lip curled. "Did you really think your trio could survive a couple?"

An awkward silence fell. Draco had wondered how well the friendships were maintained with regards to the relationship between Harry and Hermione. Apparently, not as well as it appeared, not if he, in some dark, troubled reality, had used that to split the entire Order.

"How does it feel, Hermione, to be wanted by two boys?" Lord Draco continued. "Don't worry. Lily Evans went through the same predicament."

Harry's head whipped around to Lord Draco at the mention of his mother's name.

"Lord Draco, stop it," Draco commanded.

His boggart looked over, a sneer twisting pale lips, the grey eyes lit with vicious pleasure.

"You picked me," he said. "You picked me because I was 'safe', because I posed no real physical threat to any of you. Did you really think that would prevent me from causing any other sort of damage?"

"We need the horcrux, Draco," said Harry. "We understand."

"He understands," Lord Draco mocked. "He doesn't, not really. It's in his blood to be the winner, to get the girl. He doesn't know what it's like to play second string. Isn't that right, Sirius?"

Oh, Merlin. Draco knew, of course, that Lily Evans had been a popular girl. He'd read about her, her and James Potter because it wasn't everyday a child was born who survived the Killing Curse. He needed to know everything he could about Harry Potter, including his parents. Most of the information he gathered from yearbooks and listening to his relatives talk. After all, most were Death Eaters, and Harry was a hot topic. Through that, he'd learned a lot about the past students of Hogwarts and he was a master at inference.

"You liked Lily too," Lord Draco told Sirius. "How could you not? She was influential at school, not afraid to speak her mind, and she was easy on the eyes."

Merde. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, wanting this to be over.

"Too bad she liked James more, but that never stopped you from wondering, did it? Just how would things have turned out if you'd been the one to make the first move? You think that too, don't you, Ron?"

And now Lord Draco turned back to the youngest Weasley boy, grinning maliciously.

"And Hermione, do you ever feel guilty for choosing one over the other? Lily had it harder, you know, she had three men to choose from. James, Sirius, and one Severus Snape, her childhood confidant."

Ron gaped. Hermione gasped and Harry stared. Sirius, his face redder than normal – from embarrassment and anger – simply looked away. Lily choosing James had been the deciding factor for Snape, Draco knew that much. He knew it wasn't really Lily's fault. Snape had been horrid, torn between the girl he loved and a place of belonging.

And that was enough. His boggart had no right to start dredging up secrets from those who weren't even present. Hell, he shouldn't even be attacking the others. It was his boggart, his responsibility. He could handle Lord Draco's taunts, the rest should be spared.

Draco turned to his boggart and let out a scathing laugh.

"Gossip, Lord Draco? Is that what you're reduced to?"

Lord Draco met his gaze and his lips curled, mirroring Draco's expression. They both held it for a few moments, then Lord Draco grinned.

"Challenging me, Draco?" He sat forward. "You know what I could tell them, don't you? All your nefarious plans, the thoughts you can't help but think, the way you imagine the world if you would only get your hands the slightest bit dirty. It isn't really murder, if it's for a good purpose, is it? Like Dear Aunt Bella. You were going to murder her."

"They know that," said Draco.

"And Bill," said Lord Draco. "You were going to wipe his memory at the end of sixth year, to protect your little secret."

"I didn't," said Draco.

"You were going to kill Tierney," said Lord Draco.

"Please," said Draco scornfully, "I was merely considering the benefits of assassination." He looked over at the rest of the table. "Purely last case scenario. All options had to be considered."

Lord Draco smiled. "Sometimes you're grateful your mother cursed you as a child, or else how many tears would you have shed when Lucius abandoned you for yet another business venture? You would have cried yourself to sleep every night. The lonely prince who had everything except his father's love."

Draco took a sip of his tea, trying to force casualness, trying to pretend that the words from his boggart's mouth meant nothing.

"Well, you didn't have Narcissa's love either, but she hardly counts. Always drunk. Usually high. She locked you in your rooms to keep you away, sometimes for days at a time. Rather similar to Potter here, except you had room to breathe. I wonder if the space you had makes a difference, or is the locked door all that matters? Of course, it was only his aunt who locked him away, not his own mother. You can bet his mother would have never slipped him Angel-Flight to keep him out of the way."

Draco refused to react to the words. He pulled up every mental shield and hid behind the walls where he could tend to his wounds without being seen.

"Does Bill know how easy it was for you to start caring for him? All he had to do was keep your secret, show a moment of camaraderie and you were ready to replace Lukas, your own brother. Lukas, the only one who ever truly, undeniably, cared for you.

"If Lucius had shown you any sort of undeniable affection, if he had ever said the words 'I love you', you would have taken the Dark Mark. You would have been his willing apprentice, worshiping his every move like poor, spineless Wormtail."

Draco stared at the tablecloth, his stomach churning again. His hands had curled into fists underneath the table.

"Maybe Lucius would have listened," said Lord Draco. "Maybe if you had just told him, showed him what you were, all that you were capable of, maybe that could have changed things. After all, he left you everything. He even reinstated you as his heir. But you kept your secrets. And then you killed him. We're not so different after all, are we Draco?"

There, something he could respond to. Draco looked up at his boggart, his lips quirking in a smirk. He looked over at the bottle of wine held in Lord Draco's hand and raised an eyebrow. He could see a big difference between them.

Lord Draco paled with anger, his grey eyes burning.

"Fils de pute," he spat.

Draco shrugged a shoulder. "No argument here."

Lord Draco's face went blank. Draco had never been one to cede an argument, so he knew Lord Draco wouldn't give up, not just yet. He waited, wondering what was next.

Lord Draco turned to face Ginny.

Draco took a breath, wondering what would come out of his mouth next. Would it be details of her death? How he had wooed the darkness in her soul, and when he couldn't turn her, when he couldn't extinguish all of her light, he had extinguished her instead.

"Ginny," said Lord Draco, his face twisted in anger. "Ginny."

But it was gentler that second time. Lord Draco's expression smoothed.

"My darling Ginevra," Lord Draco began again, trying to force nonchalance. He failed, badly, and then fell silent.

Draco looked over in surprise. He had been ready for a strike, ready to flinch and bleed as the true horrors of his mind were displayed for all to see. Now Lord Draco seemed to have lost his words. Instead he stared at Ginny, grey eyes drinking her in with an intensity that Draco guarded fiercely. He knew he looked at Ginny like this on occasion, but never with anyone else watching, much less Ginny herself.

"Ginny," said Lord Draco again. "Gorgeous Ginny. Funny Ginny. _My_ Ginny."

Draco could see Ron turning an odd shade of red, ready to stand up and knock Lord Draco's head clean off his shoulders for saying such things. Bill was looking quite concerned too, but he was looking at the right culprit. He was looking at Draco. Ginny, however, simple gave a small smile.

"My Lord Draco," she returned.

And Lord Draco pushed his hand out on the table, reaching in her direction. It was a pale, thin, trembling hand and Ginny leaned closer, stretching past Draco to brush fingertips with his boggart.

"Ginny," said Lord Draco softly. "When he tells you, I don't know when he will, but when he finally admits that he loves you, he means every word."

Silence.

Draco blinked and stared at his boggart. Since when did boggarts actually say nice things? Since when did they stop leveling threats and dire consequences? Yes, Lord Draco had the ability to regret, but this was entirely different.

To the side, the door to the vanishing cabinet clicked open. No one moved though, they were too busy staring between Draco, Lord Draco, and Ginny. The latter two were only staring at each other and Ginny twisted her hand, so that she was holding onto Lord Draco's fingertips. Her expression was focused, intent, as if she was waiting for the boggart to realize something. Draco didn't think either of them were breathing.

Lord Draco suddenly reeled back in his chair.

"I didn't kill you!" he exclaimed. He turned to Draco, something akin to light forcing its way past muddled, glazed grey eyes. "How could I have?" he asked to only one who would understand. "How do you destroy salvation?"

"Well, I don't," said Draco. "But I rather thought that you, as the impersonation of my darkest fear, would have found the depravity to do so."

"Oh, sod off," Lord Draco exclaimed. "Where do you get off, dictating my every move? Why do I have to do the exact opposite of you every bloody time? You know what, if I want to do good someday, I will. I'd like to see you stop me!"

"By the wand of Merlin," Dumbledore whispered, staring at Lord Draco. "He's self-realized."

Draco looked from Dumbledore to Lord Draco in disbelief. Is that really what had happened? Had this manor lent his boggart enough power to take his fear one step further? Only it had backfired. Lord Draco had always been more real than any other boggart, simply because Draco was able to fear so vividly. Now, with this additional power, Lord Draco had embodied that realness and become, well, more human, with a separate, individual consciousness from Draco.

Draco Malfoy had always thought for himself, had rebelled against authority simply because he was smarter, more intelligent. He had never listened to his elders. If he had obeyed, it was simply because he agreed with their assessments or to further his own purpose. Lord Draco, with his own mind, would not be held to Draco's demands.

Draco stared at Lord Draco, amazed. A voice called his attention. It was the brownie.

"Did you have fun playing with your boggart, Draco?"

Draco's head snapped around at that tone. It was the tone, not the voice, that was so familiar. The voice was the brownie's, but the tone was sensual and scathing.

Draco pulled his wand and jumped to his feet. At the head of the table, Lord Draco mirrored his actions perfectly.

The brownie was contorting, growing. One leg ballooned, then an arm stretched, then the neck was lengthened. It was grotesque, but Draco couldn't look away. He knew who it would be.

"Avada Kedavra."

Green light shot from Lord Draco's wand to the twitching, morphing frame. The body fell but continued to transform into the seductive features of Claire Jameson.

"You killed her!" Ron yelped, jumping to his feet.

Several things happened at once. A dusty clock fell off the wall and a chair in the corner spasmed. The area rug on the floor rolled up and began to twist into a humanoid shape.

"Into the cabinet!" Draco commanded, pulling Ginny to her feet. The Order members scrambled from the table and made for the now unlocked door of the vanishing cabinet. One by one, they crammed inside and disappeared.

Draco waited for the others to enter, but Dumbledore motioned him ahead. He stepped into the cabinet, felt an odd tingling sensation, and then stepped out into another room. It was just as abandoned as the rest of the house, with dust and cobwebs covering every surface. Even the paintings and candelabras and vases that covered the long tables. Even the monstrous pile of galleons in the corner. Even the wooden trunks stacked three high alongside the windowless walls.

Draco turned as Lord Draco then Dumbledore appeared. Dumbledore immediately began casting wards on the cabinet and Draco joined him, adding a few complementary dark wards.

"What was that?" Ron demanded.

"Death Eaters," said Lord Draco. "They arrived yesterday but killed the brownie, thinking that would let them into the cabinet. When the door remained locked, Claire figured you would show up and finish the task. So she plotted an ambush."

"Thanks for telling us now," said Draco, rolling his eyes. He stepped back from the door, having cast enough to keep the Death Eaters at bay for now.

"Hey, I'm your boggart, not some Gryffindor do-good," Lord Draco snapped.

"Draco, Lord Draco, please," said Dumbledore. "We need a plan."

"Find the goblet, get out, run like hell," Harry supplied.

"I like it," said Draco.

"Clear, direct, I'm in," said Lord Draco. "Except, of course, the army of Death Eaters outside the door might hinder that. And, no, there isn't another way out."

Draco turned to survey the room, but Lord Draco was correct, as he expected him to be. They were in a safe room. The only way in was through the vanishing cabinet.

Draco looked over at his boggart and raised an eyebrow. Lord Draco stared back belligerently.

"Since when am I your errand boy?" he sneered.

"Since the fact that if I die, you die too," said Draco.

"I hate it when I'm smart," said Lord Draco. He sighed, affected a put-upon air, and walked over to the cabinet. He melted into a grey shadow and disappeared.

"What is he doing?" asked Bill.

"He'll buy us some time and provide a distraction," said Draco. "Now, let's find the goblet?"

ooooOOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOoooo

There were benefits to being a boggart. Far more detriments, but a few benefits none the less. One of said benefits was the shadow-mist of the boggart's true form. It could move quickly and silently and remain largely unnoticed. It could even seep through a vanishing cabinet and right by a posse of Death Eaters without any of them noticing. Of course, the fact that the Death Eaters were in general chaos, cursing the door to the vanishing cabinet, contributed to his general invisibility.

Lord Draco regained his human shape outside of the room. He cursed the fact that his killing curse had done nothing more than a common 'stupefy'. It wasn't fair that he was the only one with the moral ambiguity to kill that bitch of a student teacher while she was defenseless and the only one who didn't have the magical power to do it.

Well, who said he had to use magic to kill Claire. Lord Draco paused for one moment, all of the possibilities flying through his sharp mind. Merlin, but he loved possessing the brain of Draco Malfoy.

He started down the hall again a moment later. It wasn't really his problem. He would seize the opportunity if it presented itself, but his first priority was getting the horcrux and getting the members of the Order out of Black Water. Ginny in particular.

Lord Draco walked downstairs, running his fingers along the wall. He was still a bit unsteady on his feet. The Angel-Flight, while not real in a chemical sense, was still a little hard to shake.

He paused again as he felt the wall brush back against his fingertips. He tilted his head to the side and pressed his hand flat against the wall.

Voices sounded in his head, murmuring and whispering, and he felt invisible hands touch his mind. Incredible. The house was…well, not sentient. But through the house he could connect with the other magical creatures who lived within the wards. Creatures that no normal human would be able to contact, much less understand and communicate with, but then again, Lord Draco wasn't exactly normal.

A predatory smile pulled at his lips. Really, the creatures weren't terribly harmful, but he was Lord Draco. If he could take over the world, then he could run a few Death Eaters out of his house.

ooooOOOOOooooOOOOoooOOOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOoooo

Again, I apologize for the delay. Please leave a review. Also, the French that Lord Draco uses means 'son of a bitch'; hence, Draco doesn't try to contradict him.


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